Gyp bent over and kissed the hand, unable to bear the sight of those two slowly rolling tears. Daphne Wing went on:
“You ARE good to me. I wish my poor little baby hadn't—”
Gyp, knowing her own tears were wetting that hand, raised herself and managed to get out the words:
“Bear up! Think of your work!”
“Dancing! Ho!” She gave the least laugh ever heard. “It seems so long ago.”
“Yes; but now it'll all come back to you again, better than ever.”
Daphne Wing answered by a feeble sigh.
There was silence. Gyp thought: 'She's falling asleep.'
With eyes and mouth closed like that, and all alabaster white, the face was perfect, purged of its little commonnesses. Strange freak that this white flower of a face could ever have been produced by Mr. and Mrs. Wagge!
Daphne Wing opened her eyes and said: