“Have you seen your wife?” he asked. “Can we not induce you to wait for the next train and stay to lunch?”
“No, thanks; it is impossible. Oh, I see you have sent for the dog-cart; I will drive to the station.”
Just then Sibyl, Gus and Freda appeared in view. Sibyl was extremely dirty. She had been climbing trees to good effect that morning, and there was a rent in front of her dress and even a very apparent hole in one of her stockings. She and Gus were arguing somewhat fiercely, and the cap she wore was pushed back, and her golden hair was all in a tangle. Suddenly she raised her eyes, caught sight of her father, and, with a shout something between a whoop and a cry, flung herself into his arms.
“Daddy, daddy!” she cried.
He clasped her tightly to his breast. He did not notice the shabby dress nor the torn stocking; he only saw the eager little face, the eyes brimful with love; he only felt the beating of the warm, warm heart.
“Why, dad, now I shall be happy. Where are you, Gus? Gus, this is father; Gus, come here!”
But at a nod from Lord Grayleigh both Gus and Freda had vanished round the corner.
“I will say good-by, if you must go, Ogilvie,” said Grayleigh. He took his hand, gave it a sympathetic squeeze, and went into the house.
“But must you go, father? Why, you have only just come,” said Sibyl.
“I must, my darling, I must catch the next train; there is not ten minutes. Jump on the dog-cart, and we will drive to the station together.”