“Dad, please don’t make anything of that kiss.  He couldn’t help himself, I suppose.  What does it matter, too?”

A moment later Rosek entered.  Before she could speak, Winton was saying: 

“Thank you for letting us know, sir.  But now that my daughter is here, there will be no further need for your kind services.  Good-day!”

At the cruel curtness of those words, Gyp gave the tiniest start forward.  She had seen them go through Rosek’s armour as a sword through brown paper.  He recovered himself with a sickly smile, bowed, and went out.  Winton followed—­precisely as if he did not trust him with the hats in the hall.  When the outer door was shut, he said: 

“I don’t think he’ll trouble you again.”

Gyp’s gratitude was qualified by a queer compassion.  After all, his offence had only been that of loving her.

Fiorsen had been taken to her room, which was larger and cooler than his own; and the maid was standing by the side of the bed with a scared face.  Gyp signed to her to go.  He opened his eyes presently: 

“Gyp!  Oh!  Gyp!  Is it you?  The devilish, awful things I see—­ don’t go away again!  Oh, Gyp!” With a sob he raised himself and rested his forehead against her.  And Gyp felt—­as on the first night he came home drunk—­a merging of all other emotions in the desire to protect and heal.

“It’s all right, all right,” she murmured.  “I’m going to stay.  Don’t worry about anything.  Keep quite quiet, and you’ll soon be well.”

In a quarter of an hour, he was asleep.  His wasted look went to her heart, and that expression of terror which had been coming and going until he fell asleep!  Anything to do with the brain was so horrible!  Only too clear that she must stay—­that his recovery depended on her.  She was still sitting there, motionless, when the doctor came, and, seeing him asleep, beckoned her out.  He looked a kindly man, with two waistcoats, the top one unbuttoned; and while he talked, he winked at Gyp involuntarily, and, with each wink, Gyp felt that he ripped the veil off one more domestic secret.  Sleep was the ticket—­the very ticket for him!  Had something on his mind—­yes!  And—­er—­a little given to—­brandy?  Ah! all that must stop!  Stomach as well as nerves affected.  Seeing things—­nasty things—­sure sign.  Perhaps not a very careful life before marriage.  And married—­how long?  His kindly appreciative eyes swept Gyp from top to toe.  Year and a half!  Quite so!  Hard worker at his violin, too?  No doubt!  Musicians always a little inclined to be immoderate—­too much sense of beauty—­burn the candle at both ends!  She must see to that.  She had been away, had she not—­staying with her father?  Yes.  But—­no one like a wife for nursing.  As to treatment?  Well!  One would shove in a dash of what he would prescribe, night and morning.  Perfect quiet.  No stimulant.  A little cup of strong coffee without milk, if he