Outside there was fog and mud, slime and filth. And in his heart there was little that was cleaner.
Nina went down to Puddlewood the next week and surprised everybody.
They weren't expecting her in the least. They hadn't heard a word from her or of her, and they didn't know a thing about the skin-grafting and the wonderful success that Pottow, aided by the Andrews cuticle, had made of it.
They were all gathered in the great hall for tea when she arrived, and her entrance was rather dramatic. She insisted that she should not be announced, but permitted to find her way in alone.
The black staghound, Tara, was with her, and at her command he preceded her, bounding into the group with Nina's umbrella gripped in his lean jaws.
Every woman screamed, and every man who was not already standing sprang to his feet.
"God bless my soul!" cried the duke. "How did that beast get here? It's Nina Darling's. There isn't another such in all England."
Lord Waltheof reached for the umbrella, which Tara gave up without protest, and turned with expectant gaze toward the door.
"It's Mrs. Darling's umbrella," said Wally, examining the initials on the silver-gilt handle. "She must be here."