were dark rings under the eyes, and he was too perfectly self-possessed,
with a kind of cold sweetness; but he was very agreeable and polite, and
spoke English well. He was--it seemed--a Pole, who lived in London, and
seemed to know all that was to be known about music. Miss Winton--he
believed--had heard his friend Fiorsen play; but not in London? No? That
was odd; he had been there some months last season. Faintly annoyed at
her ignorance, Gyp answered:

"Yes; but I was in the country nearly all last summer."

"He had a great success. I shall take him back; it is best for his
future. What do you think of his playing?"

In spite of herself, for she did not like expanding to this sphinxlike
little man, Gyp murmured:

"Oh, simply wonderful, of course!"

He nodded, and then rather suddenly said, with a peculiar little smile:

"May I introduce him? Gustav--Miss Winton!"

Gyp turned. There he was, just behind her, bowing; and his eyes had a
look of humble adoration which he made no attempt whatever to conceal.
Gyp saw another smile slide over the Pole's lips; and she was alone
in the bay window with Fiorsen. The moment might well have fluttered a
girl's nerves after his recognition of her by the Schiller statue, after
that episode of the flowers, and what she had heard of him. But life had
not yet touched either her nerves or spirit; she only felt amused and
a little excited. Close to, he had not so much that look of an animal