"I was looking at the ring," he said. "I see you still wear it."
"I'm still bearing my cross," she returned, "but I've given up hope of the crown."
"I told you to give it to poor Darling," he reminded her. "It should have been buried with him."
She made no rejoinder, but stuck the carnation among the gold of her hair. Almost at the same moment one of the doors was pushed ajar and an enormous staghound, black to a hair, slipped in and began nuzzling Nina's hand.
"Another present?" inquired Nibbetts, looking the beast over.
"Yes. A loan rather—my Irish soldier of fortune left Tara with me to keep his memory green, I fancy."
She patted his head, and into her eyes he looked unutterable things.
"You've bewitched the creature, that's clear," said her caller. He laid a hand on the hound's back and was answered by a low growl. "Surly brute!" he added.
"He senses in you his master's rival," she suggested roguishly.
"God forbid!" snarled Kneedrock.