in a fashion that Dinah always described as "his smile."

It had not been a good day for either of them. The meet had been at a
considerable distance, there had been no run worth mentioning; and now
that it was over they were returning, thoroughly tired, from the kennels.

Bathurst's pink coat clung to him like a sack, all streaked and darkened
with rain. It had weathered a good many storms in its time, as its many
varieties of tint testified; but despite this fact, its wearer never
failed to look a sportsman and a gentleman. There was nothing of the
vagabond about Bathurst, but he had the vagabond's facility for making
himself at home wherever he went. He was never at a loss, never
embarrassed, never affronted. He took life easily, as he himself put it;
and on the whole he found it good.

Riding home at a jog-trot in that driving rain with the prospect of
having to feed and rub down Rupert at the end of it before he could
attend to his own needs was not a particularly entrancing prospect; but
he faced it philosophically. After today the little girl would be at
home, and she could do it for him again. She loved to wait on him hand
and foot, and it really was a pleasure to let her.

He whistled cheerily to himself as he wended his leisurely way through
the dripping lane that made the shortest cut to his home. It would be
nice to have the little girl home again. Lydia was all very well--a good
wife, as wives went--but there was no doubt about it that Dinah's
presence made a considerable difference to his comfort. The child was
quick to forestall his wants; he sometimes thought that she was even more
useful to him than a valet would have been. He had missed her more than
he would have dreamed possible.

Lydia had missed her too; he was sure of that. She had been peculiarly
short of temper lately. Not that he ever took much notice; he was too
used to her tantrums for that. But it certainly was more comfortable when
Dinah was at home to bear the brunt of them. Yes, on the whole he was
quite pleased that the little girl was coming back. It would make a
difference to him in many ways.

He wondered what time she would arrive. He had known, but he had
forgotten. He believed it was to be some time in the evening. Her grand
friends had arranged to stay at Great Mallowes, three miles, away for the
night, and one of them--the maid probably--was to bring Dinah home. He
had smiled over this arrangement, and Lydia had openly scoff