And Winton thought: 'She's changed!' She had softened, quickened—more depth of colour in her, more gravity, more sway in her body, more sweetness in her smile. But—was she happy?
A voice said:
“Ah, what a pleasure!”
The fellow had slunk up like the great cat he was. And it seemed to Winton that Gyp had winced.
“Dad thinks we ought to have dark curtains in the music-room, Gustav.”
Fiorsen made a bow.
“Yes, yes—like a London club.”
Winton, watching, was sure of supplication in her face. And, forcing a smile, he said:
“You seem very snug here. Glad to see you again. Gyp looks splendid.”
Another of those bows he so detested! Mountebank! Never, never would he be able to stand the fellow! But he must not, would not, show it. And, as soon as he decently could, he went, taking his lonely way back through this region, of which his knowledge was almost limited to Lord's Cricket-ground, with a sense of doubt and desolation, an irritation more than ever mixed with the resolve to be always at hand if the child wanted him.