"I think I should have known her for a zealot even without that," he said. "The type is perfectly expressed in her."
"She has no love for the Japs, at all events," said Fuller, as he went to the window.
"The man clipping the hedge," said Ashton-Kirk, "is a member of the household of whom Warwick neglected to speak."
Fuller looked at the person indicated; he was upon the Morse side of the fence and wielded a huge pair of shears diligently; in spite of the mildness of the evening he had a heavy coat buttoned to the chin. Near him frolicked a small terrier.
"He may be a gardener called in to do the trimming," suggested the assistant.
"I think we'll find that he belongs here," said Ashton-Kirk. "That is a Scottish terrier running about there; and that breed is never friendly with strangers."
There was a piano being played somewhere in the house; the touch was sure and soft, the air mournful and full of minors. They had listened but a moment, however, when Warwick entered the room.
There was a flush in his cheeks and an excited sparkle in his eyes; as he spoke his voice shook a little as though not perfectly under control.
"Thank you," he said, eagerly, as he shook hands. "I am glad that you have come."