You're looking well."

His face had become a dusky orange, and Mrs. Wagge's the colour of a
doubtful beetroot. The dog on Gyp's feet stirred, snuffled, turned
round, and fell heavily against her legs again. She said quietly:

"I was hearing of Daisy only to-day. She's quite a star now, isn't she?"

Mrs. Wagge sighed. Mr. Wagge looked away and answered:

"It's a sore subject. There she is, making her forty and fifty pound a
week, and run after in all the papers. She's a success--no doubt about
it. And she works. Saving a matter of fifteen 'undred a year, I
shouldn't be surprised. Why, at my best, the years the influenza was so
bad, I never cleared a thousand net. No, she's a success."

Mrs. Wagge added:

"Have you seen her last photograph--the one where she's standing between
two hydrangea-tubs? It was her own idea."

Mr. Wagge mumbled suddenly:

"I'm always glad to see her when she takes a run down in a car. But I've
come here for quiet after the life I've led, and I don't want to think
about it, especially before you, ma'am. I don't--that's a fact."

A silence followed, during which Mr. and Mrs. Wagge looked at their feet,
and Gyp looked at the dog.

"Ah!--here you are!" It was Winton, who had come up from behind the
shelter, and stood, with eyebrows slightly raised. Gyp could not help a
smile. Her father's weathered, narrow face, half-veiled eyes, thin nose,
little crisp, grey moustache that did not hide his firm lips, his lean,
erect figure, the very way he stood, his thin, dry, clipped voice were
the absolute antithesis of Mr. Wagge's thickset, stoutly planted form,
thick-skinned, thick-featured face, thick, rather hoarse yet oily voice.
It was as if Providence had arranged a demonstration of the extremes of
social type. And she said:

"Mr. and Mrs. Wagge--my father."

Winton raised his hat. Gyp remained seated, the dog Duckie being still
on her feet.

"'Appy to meet you, sir. I hope you have benefit from the waters.
They're supposed to be most powerful, I believe."

"Thank you--not more deadly than most. Are you drinking them?"

Mr. Wagge smiled.

"Nao!" he said, "we live here."

"Indeed! Do you find anything to do?"

"Well, as a fact, I've come here for rest. But I take a Turkish bath
once a fortnight--find it refreshing; keeps the pores of the skin
acting."

Mrs. Wagge added gently:

"It seems to suit my husband wonderfully."

Winton murmured:

"Yes. Is this yo