"Mr. Gower said it was going to rain, and it is a long way to the yard," says Julia again. "Stay here, and keep dry."
"I suppose Gower is not infallible," says Roger, hastily. "I think it will not rain."
"I think so too," says Dulce, adorably; "and as for Mr. Gower, I only know one thing; I shall never give him any of my own cake again, because he looked just as if he was going to die, or have a tooth drawn, all the time he was eating it to-day."
Then they disappear, still hand-in-hand, in search of the refractory puppies, and Portia, turning to Sir Mark, says softly:
"What am I to think now? How is it with them? Have they—"
"Yes; quite that," says Sir Mark, airily. "All is forgotten; the storm is over—not even a breeze remains. The delicate charms of two snarling puppies have put an end to strife—for the present. Let us be grateful for small mercies—and the puppies."
"It is very wonderful," says Portia, still showing some soft surprise.
CHAPTER XI.
"There's something in a flying horse."