"Quick!" she laughed, "quick—the tide will be in. Where's the dog?"
The dog was cavorting with a crab in a pool.
"Jingles!" sternly admonished his master, who was heaving everything pell-mell into his haversack. "By the way, what became of Jingles the first?"
A shadow crept into Leonie's eyes as she thought of the pain and disaster she invariably seemed to bring to those she loved most.
"He—he was run over—it was my fault, I whistled him across the road and a car caught him. If we hurry," she continued, "we shall be in time for tea—Auntie will love to see you again!"
"Oh! of course—I'd almost forgotten her—will she?"
CHAPTER XVII
"He that rebuketh a wicked man getteth himself a blot!"—The Bible.
By all the ill-luck in the world Sir Walter Hickle was sitting in the patch called the garden, turning a small parcel elatedly over and over in his pocket, as Leonie, and her companion, and the dog came sliding down the hill towards the cottage.
For the time being Leonie had totally forgotten the proceedings of the night before, which had metamorphosed her radiant self from a free into a bond woman.