Mr. Wagge blew his nose.
“You didn't know—” he began again.
“Yes; I dare say she sees my husband, if that's what you mean; and I don't mind—he's nothing to me now.”
Mr. Wagge's face became further complicated by the sensations of a husband.
“Well,” he said, “it's not to be wondered at, perhaps, in the circumstances. I'm sure I always thought—”
Gyp interrupted swiftly.
“Please, Mr. Wagge—please! Will you give me Daisy's address?”
Mr. Wagge remained a moment in deep thought; then he said, in a gruff, jerky voice:
“Seventy-three Comrade Street, So'o. Up to seeing him there on Tuesday, I must say I cherished every hope. Now I'm sorry I didn't strike him—he was too quick for me—” He had raised one of his gloved hands and was sawing it up and down. The sight of that black object cleaving the air nearly made Gyp scream, her nerves were so on edge. “It's her blasted independence—I beg pardon—but who wouldn't?” he ended suddenly.
Gyp passed him.