Her thoughts flew to Summerhay.  They were to meet at three o’clock by the seat in St. James’s Park.  But all was different, now; difficult and dangerous!  She must wait, take counsel with her father.  And yet if she did not keep that tryst, how anxious he would be—­thinking that all sorts of things had happened to her; thinking perhaps—­oh, foolish!—­that she had forgotten, or even repented of her love.  What would she herself think, if he were to fail her at their first tryst after those days of bliss?  Certainly that he had changed his mind, seen she was not worth it, seen that a woman who could give herself so soon, so easily, was one to whom he could not sacrifice his life.

In this cruel uncertainty, she spent the next two hours, till it was nearly three.  If she did not go out, he would come on to Bury Street, and that would be still more dangerous.  She put on her hat and walked swiftly towards St. James’s Palace.  Once sure that she was not being followed, her courage rose, and she passed rapidly down toward the water.  She was ten minutes late, and seeing him there, walking up and down, turning his head every few seconds so as not to lose sight of the bench, she felt almost lightheaded from joy.  When they had greeted with that pathetic casualness of lovers which deceives so few, they walked on together past Buckingham Palace, up into the Green Park, beneath the trees.  During this progress, she told him about her father; but only when they were seated in that comparative refuge, and his hand was holding hers under cover of the sunshade that lay across her knee, did she speak of Fiorsen.

He tightened his grasp of her hand; then, suddenly dropping it, said: 

“Did he touch you, Gyp?”

Gyp heard that question with a shock.  Touch her!  Yes!  But what did it matter?

He made a little shuddering sound; and, wondering, mournful, she looked at him.  His hands and teeth were clenched.  She said softly: 

“Bryan!  Don’t!  I wouldn’t let him kiss me.”

He seemed to have to force his eyes to look at her.

“It’s all right,” he said, and, staring before him, bit his nails.

Gyp sat motionless, cut to the heart.  She was soiled, and spoiled for him!  Of course!  And yet a sense of injustice burned in her.  Her heart had never been touched; it was his utterly.  But that was not enough for a man—­he wanted an untouched body, too.  That she could not give; he should have thought of that sooner, instead of only now.  And, miserably, she, too, stared before her, and her face hardened.

A little boy came and stood still in front of them, regarding her with round, unmoving eyes.  She was conscious of a slice of bread and jam in his hand, and that his mouth and cheeks were smeared with red.  A woman called out:  “Jacky!  Come on, now!” and he was hauled away, still looking back, and holding out his bread and jam as though offering her a bite.  She felt Summerhay’s arm slipping round her.