“Oh, where’s the cream?”

“Ain’t got none.”

“Oh!  I told you always—­two pennyworth at twelve o’clock.”

“Two penn’orth.”  The boy’s eyes goggled.

“Didn’t you want to speak to her, miss?” He beat the closing door.  “Lidy wants to speak to you!  Good-mornin’, miss.”

The figure of Daphne Wing in a blue kimono was revealed.  Her eyes peered round at Gyp.

“Oh!” she said.

“May I come in?”

“Oh, yes!  Oh, do!  I’ve been practising.  Oh, I am glad to see you!”

In the middle of the studio, a little table was laid for two.  Daphne Wing went up to it, holding in one hand the milk-can and in the other a short knife, with which she had evidently been opening oysters.  Placing the knife on the table, she turned round to Gyp.  Her face was deep pink, and so was her neck, which ran V-shaped down into the folds of her kimono.  Her eyes, round as saucers, met Gyp’s, fell, met them again.  She said: 

“Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, I am glad!  I really am.  I wanted you so much to see my room—­do you like it?  How did you know where I was?” She looked down and added:  “I think I’d better tell you.  Mr. Fiorsen came here, and, since then, I’ve seen him at Count Rosek’s—­and—­and—­”

“Yes; but don’t trouble to tell me, please.”

Daphne Wing hurried on.

“Of course, I’m quite mistress of myself now.”  Then, all at once, the uneasy woman-of-the-world mask dropped from her face and she seized Gyp’s hand.  “Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, I shall never be like you!”

With a little shiver, Gyp said: 

“I hope not.”  Her pride rushed up in her.  How could she ask this girl anything?  She choked back that feeling, and said stonily:  “Do you remember my baby?  No, of course; you never saw her.  He and Count Rosek have just taken her away from me.”

Daphne Wing convulsively squeezed the hand of which she had possessed herself.

“Oh, what a wicked thing!  When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Oh, I am glad I haven’t seen him since!  Oh, I do think that was wicked!  Aren’t you dreadfully distressed?” The least of smiles played on Gyp’s mouth.  Daphne Wing burst forth:  “D’you know—­I think—­I think your self-control is something awful.  It frightens me.  If my baby had lived and been stolen like that, I should have been half dead by now.”

Gyp answered stonily as ever: 

“Yes; I want her back, and I wondered—­”

Daphne Wing clasped her hands.

“Oh, I expect I can make him—­” She stopped, confused, then added hastily:  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I shouldn’t mind if he had fifty loves.  Perhaps he has.”

Daphne Wing uttered a little gasp; then her teeth came down rather viciously on her lower lip.

“I mean him to do what I want now, not what he wants me.  That’s the only way when you love.  Oh, don’t smile like that, please; you do make me feel so—­uncertain.”