rest, in turn, on each figure that passed, on the movements of birds
and dogs, watching the sunlight glisten on the grass, burnish the copper
beeches, the lime-trees, and those tall poplars down there by the water.
The doctor at Mildenham, once consulted on a bout of headache, had
called her eyes "perfect organs," and certainly no eyes could take
things in more swiftly or completely. She was attractive to dogs, and
every now and then one would stop, in two minds whether or no to put
his nose into this foreign girl's hand. From a flirtation of eyes with
a great Dane, she looked up and saw Fiorsen passing, in company with
a shorter, square man, having very fashionable trousers and a corseted
waist. The violinist's tall, thin, loping figure was tightly buttoned
into a brownish-grey frock-coat suit; he wore a rather broad-brimmed,
grey, velvety hat; in his buttonhole was a white flower; his
cloth-topped boots were of patent leather; his tie was bunched out at
the ends over a soft white-linen shirt--altogether quite a dandy! His
most strange eyes suddenly swept down on hers, and he made a movement as
if to put his hand to his hat.

'Why, he remembers me,' thought Gyp. That thin-waisted figure with head
set just a little forward between rather high shoulders, and its long
stride, curiously suggested a leopard or some lithe creature. He touched
his short companion's arm, muttered something, turned round, and came
back. She could see him staring her way, and knew he was coming simply
to look at her. She knew, too, that her father was watching. And she
felt that those greenish eyes would waver before his stare--that stare
of the Englishman of a certain class, which never condescends to
be inquisitive. They passed; Gyp saw Fiorsen turn to his companion,
slightly tossing back his head in their direction, and heard the
companion laugh. A little flame shot up in her.