"Say no one can see him."
Markey's woodcock eyes, under their thin, dark, twisting brows, fastened
on her dolefully; he opened the door to go. Fiorsen was standing there,
and, with a quick movement, came in. She saw Markey raise his arms as if
to catch him round the waist, and said quietly:
"Markey--wait outside, please."
When the door was shut, she retreated against her dressing-table and
stood gazing at her husband, while her heart throbbed as if it would
leap through its coverings.
He had grown a short beard, his cheeks seemed a little fatter, and his
eyes surely more green; otherwise, he looked much as she remembered him.
And the first thought that passed through her was: 'Why did I ever
pity him? He'll never fret or drink himself to death--he's got enough
vitality for twenty men.'
His face, which had worn a fixed, nervous smile, grew suddenly grave
as her own, and his eyes roved round the room in the old half-fierce,
half-furtive way.
"Well, Gyp," he said, and his voice shook a little: "At last! Won't you
kiss me?"
The question seemed to Gyp idiotic; and suddenly she felt quite cool.
"If you want to speak to my father, you must come later; he's out."
Fiorsen gave one of his fierce shrugs.
"Is it likely? Look, Gyp! I returned from Russia yesterday. I was a
great success, made a lot of money out there. Come back to me! I will be
good--I swear it! Now I have seen you again, I can't be without you.
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