Was that your father sitting with you under the statue?"

Gyp nodded, suddenly grave. She had not forgotten the slighting turn of
his head.

He passed his hand over his face, as if to wipe off its expression.

"He is very English. But you--of no country--you belong to all!"

Gyp made him an ironical little bow.

"No; I should not know your country--you are neither of the North nor of
the South. You are just Woman, made to be adored. I came here hoping
to meet you; I am extremely happy. Miss Winton, I am your very devoted
servant."

He was speaking very fast, very low, with an agitated earnestness that
surely could not be put on. But suddenly muttering: "These people!"
he made her another of his little bows and abruptly slipped away. The
baroness was bringing up another man. The chief thought left by that
meeting was: "Is that how he begins to everyone?" She could not quite
believe it. The stammering earnestness of his voice, those humbly
adoring looks! Then she remembered the smile on the lips of the little
Pole, and thought: "But he must know I'm not silly enough just to be
taken in by vulgar flattery!"

Too sensitive to confide in anyone, she had no chance to ventilate the
curious sensations of attraction and repulsion that began fermenting in
her, feelings defying analysis, mingling and quarrelling deep down in
her heart. It was certainly not love, not even the beginning of that;