[Chapter V]
The nose of the setter quivered and, going to the window, he growled.
"He does hear something," asserted Sylvia. "What do you suppose it is?"
"Gulls, most likely. They circle above the house in clouds," was Marcia's careless answer. "The Prince regards them as his natural enemies. He delights to chase them up the beach and send them whirling into the air. Apparently he resents their chatter. He seems to think they are talking about him—and they may be for aught I know—talking about all of us."
A faint echo of her recent irritation still lingered in the tone and, conscious of it, she laughed to conceal it.
Again the dog growled.
Almost immediately a hand fumbled with the latch, and as the door swung open, a man staggered blindly into the room.
He was hatless, wet to the skin, and shivering with cold, and before Marcia could reach his side, he lurched forward and fell at her feet.
"Quick, Sylvia, close the door and heat some broth. The poor fellow is exhausted. He's chilled to the bone."