“Not been here this morning?”
“No, sir.”
He shrugged away the thought that he ought to give some explanation of his question, and got into the cab again, telling the man to drive to Curzon Street. If she had not been to “that Aunt Rosamund” either it would be all right. She had not. There was no one else she would go to. And, with a sigh of relief, he began to feel hungry, having had no breakfast. He would go to Rosek's, borrow the money to pay his cab, and lunch there. But Rosek was not in. He would have to go home to get the cab paid. The driver seemed to eye him queerly now, as though conceiving doubts about the fare.
Going in under the trellis, Fiorsen passed a man coming out, who held in his hand a long envelope and eyed him askance.
Gyp, who was sitting at her bureau, seemed to be adding up the counterfoils in her cheque-book. She did not turn round, and Fiorsen paused. How was she going to receive him?
“Is there any lunch?” he said.
She reached out and rang the bell. He felt sorry for himself. He had been quite ready to take her in his arms and say: “Forgive me, little Gyp; I'm sorry!”
Betty answered the bell.
“Please bring up some lunch for Mr. Fiorsen.”
He heard the stout woman sniff as she went out. She was a part of his ostracism. And, with sudden rage, he said: