behind bars, and he certainly was in his way a dandy, beautifully
washed--always an important thing--and having some pleasant essence on
his handkerchief or hair, of which Gyp would have disapproved if he had
been English. He wore a diamond ring also, which did not somehow
seem bad form on that particular little finger. His height, his broad
cheek-bones, thick but not long hair, the hungry vitality of his face,
figure, movements, annulled those evidences of femininity. He was male
enough, rather too male. Speaking with a queer, crisp accent, he said:

"Miss Winton, you are my audience here. I play to you--only to you."

Gyp laughed.

"You laugh at me; but you need not. I play for you because I admire you.
I admire you terribly. If I sent you those flowers, it was not to be
rude. It was my gratitude for the pleasure of your face." His voice
actually trembled. And, looking down, Gyp answered:

"Thank you. It was very kind of you. I want to thank you for your
playing. It is beautiful--really beautiful!"

He made her another little bow.

"When I go back to London, will you come and hear me?"

"I should think any one would go to hear you, if they had the chance."

He gave a short laugh.

"Bah! Here, I do it for money; I hate this place. It bores me--bores me!