Chapter IV
After that Sunday call, Gyp sat in the window at Bury Street close to a bowl of heliotrope on the window-sill. She was thinking over a passage of their conversation. "Mrs. Fiorsen, tell me about yourself." "Why? What do you want to know?" "Your marriage?" "I made a fearful mistake--against my father's wish. I haven't seen my husband for months; I shall never see him again if I can help it. Is that enough?" "And you love him?" "It must be like having your head in chancery. Can't you get it out?" "Divorce-court! Ugh! I couldn't!" "Yes, I know--it's hellish!" Was he, who gripped her hand so hard and said that, really the same nonchalant young man who had leaned out of the carriage window, gurgling with laughter? And what had made the difference? She buried her face in the heliotrope,
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