" Pink came up in Daphne Wing's cheeks. And, encouraged by that
flush, he went on warmly: "If you loved me now, I should not tire of
you. Oh, you can believe me! I--"
She shook her head.
"We won't talk about love, will we? Did you have a big triumph in Moscow
and St. Petersburg? It must be wonderful to have really great triumphs!"
Fiorsen answered gloomily:
"Triumphs? I made a lot of money."
Daphne Wing purred:
"Oh, I expect you're very happy."
Did she mean to be ironic?
"I'm miserable."
He got up and went towards her. She looked up in his face.
"I'm sorry if you're miserable. I know what it feels like."
"You can help me not to be. Little Daphne, you can help me to forget."
He had stopped, and put his hands on her shoulders. Without moving
Daphne Wing answered:
"I suppose it's Mrs. Fiorsen you want to forget, isn't it?"
"As if she were dead. Ah, let it all be as it was, Daphne! You have
grown up; you are a woman, an artist, and you--"
Daphne Wing had turned her head toward the stairs.
"That was the bell," she said. "Suppose it's my people? It's just their
time! Oh, isn't that awkward?"
Fiorsen dropped his grasp of her and recoiled against the wall. There
with his head touching one of the little Japanese trees, he stood biting
his fingers. She was already moving toward the door.
"My mother's got a key, and it's no good putting you anywhere, because
she always has a good look round.
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