“When he went away he told me not to worry. Mrs. Pithey _was_ coming to call, but she had been so busy, and now those lazy dogs of workmen couldn’t be out of the place for another month at least.” “And my wife is worrying me to call on him,” groaned North. “Halloo, where is Larry?” “He was there a moment ago; I saw him just before you stopped, but I never saw him jump out.” North called in vain until he gave a peculiar whistle, which brought a plainly reluctant Larry to view. “He doesn’t want to come with me,” said North. “Get in, Larry.” And Larry obeyed the peremptory command, while Ruth checked an impulse to suggest that she should keep him. As the car started slowly up the hill he turned, laying his black and tan velvet muzzle on the back of the hood. Long after they had vanished, Ruth was haunted by the wistful amber eyes looking at her from a cloud of dust. Slowly she went up home through the scented evening. It had been a wonderful day. And she had made a friend. It was not such an event as it would have been before she went to France, but it was sufficiently uplifting even now. She sang to herself as she went. And then quite suddenly she thought of the man in the brown suit. “I wonder who he was, and where he disappeared to,” she said to herself, as she answered Miss McCox’s injured summons to supper. CHAPTER III “My dear Roger,” said Mrs. North, with that peculiar guinea-hen quality in her voice which it was her privilege and pleasure to keep especially for her husband, “have you nothing of interest to tell us? No one has seen you since four o’clock yesterday afternoon. At any rate, not to speak to.” North looked across the beautifully appointed lunch-table at the ill-chosen partner of his joys and sorrows, while the silence, which usually followed one of her direct attacks on him, fell upon the party surrounding it. “I see you brought Larry back with you, and conclude you found him at Thorpe,” continued Mrs. North, “and I suppose you saw Miss Seer. As it is a moot point whether we call on her or not, you might rouse yourself so far as to tell us what you thought of her. I am sure Arthur would like to hear too.” “Very much! Very much!” said the fair, cherubic-looking little man sitting on her right hand. “Thorpe was such a pleasant house in poor dear Carey’s time. It would be a serious loss if the new owner were impossible. I look upon the changes in the neighbourhood very seriously, very seriously indeed. I was only thinking yesterday that of our old circle only poor old Mentmore, the Condors, and ourselves are left. The Court and Whitemead both bought by newly rich people, whom I really dread inspecting.” “The St. Ubes may be all right,” interpolated Mrs. North. “I hear they made their money doing something with shipping, and St. Ubes does not sound a bad name.”