sympathy, for he went on in a stream of husky utterance:  “It’s a delicate thing before a lady, and she the injured party; but one has feelings.  From the first I said this dancin’ was in the face of Providence; but women have no more sense than an egg.  Her mother she would have it; and now she’s got it!  Career, indeed!  Pretty career!  Daughter of mine!  I tell you, ma’am, I’m angry; there’s no other word for it—­I’m angry.  If that scoundrel comes within reach of me, I shall mark ’im—­I’m not a young man, but I shall mark ‘im.  An’ what to say to you, I’m sure I don’t know.  That my daughter should be’ave like that!  Well, it’s made a difference to me.  An’ now I suppose her name’ll be dragged in the mud.  I tell you frankly I ’oped you wouldn’t hear of it, because after all the girl’s got her punishment.  And this divorce-court—­ it’s not nice—­it’s a horrible thing for respectable people.  And, mind you, I won’t see my girl married to that scoundrel, not if you do divorce ’im.  No; she’ll have her disgrace for nothing.”

Gyp, who had listened with her head a little bent, raised it suddenly, and said: 

“There’ll be no public disgrace, Mr. Wagge, unless you make it yourself.  If you send Daphne—­Daisy—­quietly away somewhere till her trouble’s over, no one need know anything.”

Mr. Wagge, whose mouth had opened slightly, and whose breathing could certainly have been heard in the street, took a step forward and said: 

“Do I understand you to say that you’re not goin’ to take proceedings, ma’am?”

Gyp shuddered, and shook her head.

Mr. Wagge stood silent, slightly moving his face up and down.

“Well,” he said, at length, “it’s more than she deserves; but I don’t disguise it’s a relief to me.  And I must say, in a young lady like you, and—­and handsome, it shows a Christian spirit.”  Again Gyp shivered, and shook her head.  “It does.  You’ll allow me to say so, as a man old enough to be your father—­and a regular attendant.”

He held out his hand.  Gyp put her gloved hand into it.

“I’m very, very sorry.  Please be nice to her.”

Mr. Wagge recoiled a little, and for some seconds stood ruefully rubbing his hands together and looking from side to side.

“I’m a domestic man,” he said suddenly.  “A domestic man in a serious line of life; and I never thought to have anything like this in my family—­never!  It’s been—­well, I can’t tell you what it’s been!”

Gyp took up her sunshade.  She felt that she must get away; at any moment he might say something she could not bear—­and the smell of mutton rising fast!

“I am sorry,” she said again; “good-bye”; and moved past him to the door.  She heard him breathing hard as he followed her to open it, and thought:  ’If only—­oh! please let him be silent till I get outside!’ Mr. Wagge passed her and put his hand on the latch of the front door.  His little piggy eyes scanned her almost timidly.