“Very well; I’ll take you up.”

He made no effort to ascertain her feelings toward Fiorsen.  He knew too well.

They travelled next day, reaching London at half-past two.  Betty had gone up in the early morning to prepare the way.  The dogs had been with Aunt Rosamund all this time.  Gyp missed their greeting; but the installation of Betty and the baby in the spare room that was now to be the nursery, absorbed all her first energies.  Light was just beginning to fail when, still in her fur, she took a key of the music-room and crossed the garden, to see how all had fared during her ten weeks’ absence.  What a wintry garden!  How different from that languorous, warm, moonlit night when Daphne Wing had come dancing out of the shadow of the dark trees.  How bare and sharp the boughs against the grey, darkening sky—­and not a song of any bird, not a flower!  She glanced back at the house.  Cold and white it looked, but there were lights in her room and in the nursery, and someone just drawing the curtains.  Now that the leaves were off, one could see the other houses of the road, each different in shape and colour, as is the habit of London houses.  It was cold, frosty; Gyp hurried down the path.  Four little icicles had formed beneath the window of the music-room.  They caught her eye, and, passing round to the side, she broke one off.  There must be a fire in there, for she could see the flicker through the curtains not quite drawn.  Thoughtful Ellen had been airing it!  But, suddenly, she stood still.  There was more than a fire in there!  Through the chink in the drawn curtains she had seen two figures seated on the divan.  Something seemed to spin round in her head.  She turned to rush away.  Then a kind of superhuman coolness came to her, and she deliberately looked in.  He and Daphne Wing!  His arm was round her neck.  The girl’s face riveted her eyes.  It was turned a little back and up, gazing at him, the lips parted, the eyes hypnotized, adoring; and her arm round him seemed to shiver—­with cold, with ecstasy?

Again that something went spinning through Gyp’s head.  She raised her hand.  For a second it hovered close to the glass.  Then, with a sick feeling, she dropped it and turned away.

Never!  Never would she show him or that girl that they could hurt her!  Never!  They were safe from any scene she would make—­safe in their nest!  And blindly, across the frosty grass, through the unlighted drawing-room, she went upstairs to her room, locked the door, and sat down before the fire.  Pride raged within her.  She stuffed her handkerchief between her teeth and lips; she did it unconsciously.  Her eyes felt scorched from the fire-flames, but she did not trouble to hold her hand before them.