“Who wouldn't?” she heard his voice behind her. “I did think she'd have run straight this time—” And while she was fumbling at the outer door, his red, pudgy face, with its round grey beard, protruded almost over her shoulder. “If you're going to see her, I hope you'll—”
Gyp was gone. In her cab she shivered. Once she had lunched with her father at a restaurant in the Strand. It had been full of Mr. Wagges. But, suddenly, she thought: 'It's hard on him, poor man!'
XIII
Seventy-three Comrade Street, Soho, was difficult to find; but, with the aid of a milk-boy, Gyp discovered the alley at last, and the right door. There her pride took sudden alarm, and but for the milk-boy's eyes fixed on her while he let out his professional howl, she might have fled. A plump white hand and wrist emerging took the can, and Daphne Wing's voice said:
“Oh, where's the cream?”
“Ain't got none.”
“Oh! I told you always—two pennyworth at twelve o'clock.”
“Two penn'orth.” The boy's eyes goggled.
“Didn't you want to speak to her, miss?” He beat the closing door. “Lidy wants to speak to you! Good-mornin', miss.”
The figure of Daphne Wing in a blue kimono was revealed. Her eyes peered round at Gyp.