And Harry gave it, as though it was the best of jokes, and one in which he must now play his part. II The first of many visits--how soon it was forgotten, that others more intimate should be remembered! She came almost every day during the final week of the tribulation, and would sit with him, smoking his cigarettes and drinking his claret as though his house had been a café! He discovered that she had many talents, was a rare dancer of the wild, uncouth dances of the East, and could draw with a wonderful sense of portraiture. Her pictures of Silvester should have gone to _Punch_, but her portraits of Gabrielle were full of feeling. One day, when she had been sitting upon the arm of his chair, using his broad back for an easel, she asked him, à propos nothing at all, if he were in love, and when he looked at her astonished she seemed insistent. "Are you in love with her, Harry? Why do you not answer me?" "Why, you know that I am. Aren't we going to be married, little Gipsy?" She put the pencil down and laid her head quietly upon his shoulder. "I shall never believe it; you do not love her--she is nothing to you." "Oh, come, Gipsy! What do you know about it?" She sighed, but did not raise her head. "If you loved Gabrielle Silvester you would not let me come to this house." "Why not, Gipsy?" "Because I love you, Harry." So there it was, in a flash, and both her arms were about his neck and her lips hot upon his own. She loved him and had no shame in the avowal. Destiny gave him to her. The little wild girl who came God knew whence, was not this her haven at last? She entered into her heritage fiercely as one who would not be dispossessed. Of course, Harry treated it as a good joke, or perhaps attempted so to treat it. He could not resist her kisses and made no effort to do so; but when she had calmed down a little and he had pulled her on to his knees so that he could look deep into her black eyes, he said: "We mustn't tell Gabrielle about this; we mustn't say a word just yet, Gipsy." She thought about it, pulling at the button of his vest. "Do you wish to love me in secret, Harry?" she asked presently. He laughed again at that, and said it would be a good joke. "Gabrielle will never marry me; I know that, Gipsy. She's gone on your American friend, and is too proud to tell him so. Our affair was all a mistake. Time will put that right, and then you and I will be free. Let's keep it secret, and have the laugh of them all. Will you do that, Maryska?" Her eyes were wide open; she made an effort to understand. "You do not forbid me to love you, Harry?" "Certainly not; aren't we pals?" "I may come here just when I like?" "As long as Silvester doesn't get mad about it." She thought upon this, but half satisfied.