And she was oblivious of the fact
that Gyp was quite guiltless of the desire to strike a blow against
the marriage-laws, or anything else. Aunt Rosamund's aristocratic and
rebellious blood boiled with hatred of what she called the "stuffy
people" who still held that women were men's property. It had made her
specially careful never to put herself in that position.
She had brought Gyp a piece of news.
"I was walking down Bond Street past that tea-and-tart shop, my
dear--you know, where they have those special coffee-creams, and who
should come out of it but Miss Daphne Wing and our friend Fiorsen;
and pretty hangdog he looked. He came up to me, with his little lady
watching him like a lynx. Really, my dear, I was rather sorry for him;
he'd got that hungry look of his; she'd been doing all the eating, I'm
sure. He asked me how you were. I told him, 'Very well.'
"'When you see her,' he said, 'tell her I haven't forgotten her, and
never shall. But she was quite right; this is the sort of lady that
I'm fit for.' And the way he looked at that girl made me feel quite
uncomfortable. Then he gave me one of his little bows; and off they
went, she as pleased as Punch. I really was sorry for him."
Gyp said quietly:
"Ah! you needn't have been, Auntie; he'll always be able to be sorry for
himself."
A little shocked at her niece's cynicism, Aunt Rosamund was silent.
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