Mrs. Wagge added gently:
“It seems to suit my husband wonderfully.”
Winton murmured:
“Yes. Is this your dog? Bit of a philosopher, isn't he?”
Mrs. Wagge answered:
“Oh, he's a naughty dog, aren't you, Duckie?”
The dog Duckie, feeling himself the cynosure of every eye, rose and stood panting into Gyp's face. She took the occasion to get up.
“We must go, I'm afraid. Good-bye. It's been very nice to meet you again. When you see Daisy, will you please give her my love?”
Mrs. Wagge unexpectedly took a handkerchief from her reticule. Mr. Wagge cleared his throat heavily. Gyp was conscious of the dog Duckie waddling after them, and of Mrs. Wagge calling, “Duckie, Duckie!” from behind her handkerchief.
Winton said softly: