That evening held many sensations for Gyp--some delightful, one
confused, one unpleasant. She revelled in her success. Admiration was
very dear to her. She passionately enjoyed dancing, loved feeling that
she was dancing well and giving pleasure. But, twice over, she sent away
her partners, smitten with compassion for her little governess sitting
there against the wall--all alone, with no one to take notice of her,
because she was elderly, and roundabout, poor darling! And, to that
loyal person's horror, she insisted on sitting beside her all through
two dances. Nor would she go in to supper with anyone but Winton.
Returning to the ballroom on his arm, she overheard an elderly woman
say: "Oh, don't you know? Of course he really IS her father!" and an
elderly man answer: "Ah, that accounts for it--quite so!" With those
eyes at the back of the head which the very sensitive possess, she could
see their inquisitive, cold, slightly malicious glances, and knew they
were speaking of her. And just then her partner came for her.

"Really IS her father!" The words meant TOO much to be grasped this
evening of full sensations. They left a little bruise somewhere, but
softened and anointed, just a sense of confusion at the back of her
mind. And very soon came that other sensation, so disillusioning, that
all else was crowded out. It was after a dance--a splendid dance with
a good-looking man quite twice her age. They were sitting behind some
palms, he murmuring in his mellow, flown voice admiration for her dress,
when suddenly he bent his flushed face and kissed her bare arm above the
elbow. If he had hit her he could not have astonished or hurt her more.
It seemed to her innocence that he would never have done such a thing if
she had not said something dreadful to encourage him. Without a word she
got up, gazed at him a moment with eyes dark from pain, shivered, and
slipped away. She went straight to Winton. From her face, all closed up,