"Yes, that's all very fine, but—did it ever strike you, when Hubert's been talking about her, that—"
Bob made an inarticulate sound of scorn as he inserted the cuff links into a cuff.
"Oh, Hubert's a top-hole chap, all right; but my Lord!—Jennie wouldn't look across the street at him."
"But he might look across the street at Jennie; and with you so far away—"
He smiled, with something like a wink.
"Don't you fret about that. She's the kind of little woman to be true. You can't mistake 'em."
"We've known a good many men who have mistaken them."
"You haven't known my kind to make that sort of tumble. Love can be blind; but instinct can't be. Edie, I believe so much in that girl that, if she was to play me false—But there—good Lord!—she couldn't; so why talk about it any more? See here," he added. "If you're going to change your dress, you'll have to scuttle—and I must get into my waiter's togs."
Meanwhile Dauphin's struggles were of another order. It was the hour of the day which he was accustomed to spend with Collingham, and to spend it undisturbed. In this lovely spring weather they strolled about the gardens, peeped into the hotbeds, dropped in aimlessly at the stable or the garage, exchanged odds and ends of observation with the men working around the place. After this, they returned to the house, where, upstairs, in a comfortably, masculine bedroom, the man made changes in his outer fur, while the setter, less concerned about trifles, stretched himself out on the floor and blinked. It was a restful time, suited to a mind which after the stormier years was growing more and more content with material prosperity, and to a heart that was always content with its master's contentment.