“Please let me do what I ask, Mr. Wagge. I should be so unhappy if I mightn't do that little something.”
Mr. Wagge blew his nose.
“It's a delicate matter,” he said. “I don't know where my duty lays. I don't, reelly.”
Gyp looked up then.
“The great thing is to save Daisy suffering, isn't it?”
Mr. Wagge's face wore for a moment an expression of affront, as if from the thought: 'Sufferin'! You must leave that to her father!' Then it wavered; the curious, furtive warmth of the attracted male came for a moment into his little eyes; he averted them, and coughed. Gyp said softly:
“To please me.”
Mr. Wagge's readjusted glance stopped in confusion at her waist. He answered, in a voice that he strove to make bland:
“If you put it in that way, I don't reelly know 'ow to refuse; but it must be quite between you and me—I can't withdraw my attitude.”
Gyp murmured: