"Poor little Snookie!" exclaimed his mistress, stroking her pet's head, while the little animal wagged his bushy tail and turned up the whites of his big round eyes with an expression so pitiful as to cause all four to laugh. The owner of the terrier, an over-dressed, caddish-looking man, had strolled on in utter unconcern, though well aware of what had happened. "That fellow must be a fearful outsider," declared Raife, "or he would apologise. He looks like a ratcatcher--or perhaps a dog-stealer. All dog-stealers wear straw hats and yellow boots, like his!" Whereat the three others laughed. Snookie, duly examined by his dainty little mistress, was declared to have suffered no damage, therefore after Raife had asked permission to walk with them--as they were going in the same direction--they all four found themselves chatting merrily as they strolled along, Raife at the side of the pom's mistress, and his chum with her foreign-looking companion. Already Raife and his fair unknown, to whom his introduction had come about so suddenly and unusually, were chatting without reserve, for, as an undergraduate, he had the habit of contracting quick friendships, and his careless, easy-going manner she found attractive. In the pleasant morning sunshine they sat for about half an hour, when at last Mutimer and the other girl rose from their chairs to walk together, leaving Raife, to his evident satisfaction, alone with his divinity in black. "Do you live here?" Raife inquired, after they had been gossiping for some time. "Oh dear, no," was his companion's reply, in that voice he found so refined and musical. "We're staying at the Queen's. Do you live here?" she inquired in turn. "No; I'm staying with my friend. He's up at Cambridge with me, so I'm spending part of the vac. with his people." "Oh, you're at Cambridge!" she exclaimed, "I was at the `University Arms' with my uncle, about two months ago. We went round and saw the colleges. I was delighted with them." "Where do you generally live?" he asked, after she had told him that her name was Gilda Tempest. "My uncle and I live a great deal abroad," was her reply; "indeed, more than I care to--to be frank. I love England. But my uncle travels so much that we have no home nowadays, and live nearly all the year round in hotels. I get horribly tired of the eternal table d'hote, the music and the chatter." "Rather pleasant, I should fancy. I love travelling," remarked the young man. "I grow sick to death of it," she declared, with a sigh. "We wander all over Europe. My uncle is a wanderer, ever on the move and most erratic." "Are you staying in Southport long?" he enquired eagerly. "I really don't know. We may stay for a day--or for a month. I never know where we're going. I have not been home for nearly two years now." "Home? Where do you live?"