Did never two dart at each other, seize, and cling, and ever after
be one? Love! It had spoiled her father's life, and Daphne Wing's;
never came when it was wanted; always came when it was not. Malevolent
wanderer, alighting here, there; tiring of the spirit before it tired of
the body; or of the body before it tired of the spirit. Better to have
nothing to do with it--far better! If one never loved, one would never
feel lonely--like that poor girl. And yet! No--there was no "and yet."
Who that was free would wish to become a slave? A slave--like Daphne
Wing! A slave--like her own husband to his want of a wife who did not
love him. A slave like her father had been--still was, to a memory. And
watching the sunlight on the bracken, Gyp thought: 'Love! Keep far from
me. I don't want you. I shall never want you!'
Every morning that week she made her way to the cottage, and every
morning had to pass through the hands of Mrs. Wagge. The good lady had
got over the upsetting fact that Gyp was the wife of that villain, and
had taken a fancy to her, confiding to the economic agent, who confided
it to Gyp, that she was "very distangey--and such pretty eyes, quite
Italian." She was one of those numberless persons whose passion for
distinction was just a little too much for their passionate propriety.
It was that worship of distinction which had caused her to have her
young daughter's talent for dancing fostered.
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