F."
and took it round to the stage-door. The answer came back:
"Miss Wing will see you m a minute, sir."
And leaning against the distempered wall of the draughty corridor, a
queer smile on his face, Fiorsen wondered why the devil he was there,
and what the devil she would say.
When he was admitted, she was standing with her hat on, while her
"dresser" buttoned her patent-leather shoes. Holding out her hand above
the woman's back, she said:
"Oh, Mr. Fiorsen, how do you do?"
Fiorsen took the little moist hand; and his eyes passed over her,
avoiding a direct meeting with her eyes. He received an impression of
something harder, more self-possessed, than he remembered. Her face was
the same, yet not the same; only her perfect, supple little body was
as it had been. The dresser rose, murmured: "Good-afternoon, miss," and
went.
Daphne Wing smiled faintly.
"I haven't seen you for a long time, have I?"
"No; I've been abroad. You dance as beautifully as ever."
"Oh, yes; it hasn't hurt my dancing."
With an effort, he looked her in the face. Was this really the same girl
who had clung to him, cloyed him with her kisses, her tears, her appeals
for love--just a little love? Ah, but she was more desirable, much more
desirable than he had remembered! And he said:
"Give me a kiss, little Daphne!"
Daphne Wing did not stir; her white teeth rested on her lower lip; she
said:
"Oh, no, thank you! How is Mrs.
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