Gyp was no more happy away from him than he from her. He had but one bad
half-hour. It came when he had at last decided that she should be called
by his name, if not legally at least by custom, round Mildenham. It was
to Markey he had given the order that Gyp was to be little Miss Winton
for the future. When he came in from hunting that day, Betty was waiting
in his study. She stood in the centre of the emptiest part of that
rather dingy room, as far as possible away from any good or chattel. How
long she had been standing there, heaven only knew; but her round, rosy
face was confused between awe and resolution, and she had made a sad
mess of her white apron. Her blue eyes met Winton's with a sort of
desperation.

"About what Markey told me, sir. My old master wouldn't have liked it,
sir."

Touched on the raw by this reminder that before the world he had been
nothing to the loved one, that before the world the squire, who had been
nothing to her, had been everything, Winton said icily:

"Indeed! You will be good enough to comply with my wish, all the same."

The stout woman's face grew very red. She burst out, breathless:

"Yes, sir; but I've seen what I've seen. I never said anything, but I've
got eyes. If Miss Gyp's to take your name, sir, then tongues'll wag, and
my dear, dead mistress--"

But at the look on his face she stopped, with her mouth open.

"You will be kind enough to keep your thoughts to yourself. If any word