Gyp shook her head.
“I heard you were married—” The little drawl in his voice had increased, as though covering the abruptness of that remark. Gyp looked up.
“Yes; but my little daughter and I live with my father again.” What “came over” her—as they say—to be so frank, she could not have told.
He said simply:
“Ah! I've often thought it queer I've never seen you since. What a run that was!”
“Perfect! Was that your mother on the platform?”
“Yes—and my sister Edith. Extraordinary dead-alive place, Widrington; I expect Mildenham isn't much better?”
“It's very quiet, but I like it.”
“By the way, I don't know your name now?”
“Fiorsen.”