"Unquestionably," said I, "you have had a violent love-affair. That is as plain as is the dainty nose upon your charming face."
Adèle regarded me with a dazzling smile.
"I forgot," she said, "that I was addressing an expert. Tell me, d'you think I shall get over it?"
"If you don't," said I, "it shan't be my fault."
"You're very good."
"Not at all," said I. "Can you spell 'homoeopathy'?"
For a man who had just parted with the home of his fathers, poor old Sir Anthony was in high spirits. Lock, stock and barrel, Merry Down had been sold to the highest bidder. Of that there was no manner of doubt. What was more to the point was that the purchaser, who had paid a good price, was of English blood, and had known Derry Bagot at Eton, and soldiered with him first in South Africa and afterwards in France. The place had passed into good clean hands and was to be well cared for.
"A very civil fellow," said Sir Anthony, whom we had brought back to White Ladies to tea, "and a sportsman. I'm truly thankful. Spoke so nicely of Derry—said he'd always looked up to him and he was proud to think he was to carry on his—his home." His voice faltered, and something of the old stricken look hung for an instant in the keen grey eyes. The next moment it was ousted by the flash of victory, and they were bent upon me. "So you deported the alien to Ramilly? Gad, but I'd 've liked to see the terrier bring him down."
As he spoke there was the noise of a familiar scamper, and a moment later Nobby had hurled himself across the terrace into my lap and was licking my face with an enthusiastic violence which could not have been more pronounced if he had not seen me for years.