Gyp met her gaze better than she had believed possible.

“Yes, nurse.”

The economic agent swept her up and down.  “It’s a pleasure to look at you.  You’ve got quite a colour, for you.  After all, I believe it might do her good to see you.  Come in!”

Gyp passed in behind her, and stood gazing, not daring to step forward.  What a white face, with eyes closed, with fair hair still damp on the forehead, with one white hand lying on the sheet above her heart!  What a frail madonna of the sugar-plums!  On the whole of that bed the only colour seemed the gold hoop round the wedding-finger.

The economic agent said very quietly: 

“Look, my dear; I’ve brought you a nice visitor.”

Daphne Wing’s eyes and lips opened and closed again.  And the awful thought went through Gyp:  ’Poor thing!  She thought it was going to be him, and it’s only me!’ Then the white lips said: 

“Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, it’s you—­it is kind of you!” And the eyes opened again, but very little, and differently.

The economic agent slipped away.  Gyp sat down by the bed and timidly touched the hand.

Daphne Wing looked at her, and two tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

“It’s over,” she said just audibly, “and there’s nothing now—­it was dead, you know.  I don’t want to live.  Oh, Mrs. Fiorsen, why can’t they let me die, too?”

Gyp bent over and kissed the hand, unable to bear the sight of those two slowly rolling tears.  Daphne Wing went on: 

“You are good to me.  I wish my poor little baby hadn’t—­”

Gyp, knowing her own tears were wetting that hand, raised herself and managed to get out the words: 

“Bear up!  Think of your work!”

“Dancing!  Ho!” She gave the least laugh ever heard.  “It seems so long ago.”

“Yes; but now it’ll all come back to you again, better than ever.”

Daphne Wing answered by a feeble sigh.

There was silence.  Gyp thought:  ‘She’s falling asleep.’

With eyes and mouth closed like that, and all alabaster white, the face was perfect, purged of its little commonnesses.  Strange freak that this white flower of a face could ever have been produced by Mr. and Mrs. Wagge!

Daphne Wing opened her eyes and said: 

“Oh!  Mrs. Fiorsen, I feel so weak.  And I feel much more lonely now.  There’s nothing anywhere.”

Gyp got up; she felt herself being carried into the mood of the girl’s heart, and was afraid it would be seen.  Daphne Wing went on: 

“Do you know, when nurse said she’d brought a visitor, I thought it was him; but I’m glad now.  If he had looked at me like he did—­I couldn’t have borne it.”

Gyp bent down and put her lips to the damp forehead.  Faint, very faint, there was still the scent of orange-blossom.