She said coldly:
"There's another reason why I must go."
"No, no! No good reason--to take you from me."
"There is! The girl who is just going to have your child is staying near
Mildenham, and I want to see how she is."
He let go of her then, and recoiling against the divan, sat down. And
Gyp thought: 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--but it serves him right.'
He muttered, in a dull voice:
"Oh, I hoped she was dead."
"Yes! For all you care, she might be. I'm going, but you needn't be
afraid that I shan't come back. I shall be back to-day week; I promise."
He looked at her fixedly.
"Yes. You don't break your promises; you will not break it." But,
suddenly, he said again: "Gyp, don't go!"
"I must."
He got up and caught her in his arms.
"Say you love me, then!"
But she could not. It was one thing to put up with embraces, quite
another to pretend that. When at last he was gone, she sat smoothing her
hair, staring before her with hard eyes, thinking: "Here--where I saw
him with that girl! What animals men are!"
Late that afternoon, she reached Mildenham. Winton met her at the
station. And on the drive up, they passed the cottage where Daphne
Wing was staying. It stood in front of a small coppice, a creepered,
plain-fronted, little brick house, with a garden still full of
sunflowers, tenanted by the old jockey, Pettance, his widowed daughter,
and her three small children.
Pages:
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248