she left
you."

Bathurst shrugged his shoulders with the comforting reflection that he
would not have the trouble of dealing with her. If she had been giddy,
after all, it was but natural. Her mother had not been particularly
steady in the days of her wild youth. And anyhow he was sure her mother
would speedily break her in again. She had a will of iron before which
Dinah was _always_ forced to bend.

He rode on along the highroad. It was not more than half a mile farther
to his home on the outskirts of the village. Somewhere in the gloom ahead
of him church-bells were pealing. It was practice-night, he remembered.
Dinah loved the sound of the bells. She would feel that they were ringing
in her honour. Funny little Dinah! The child was full of fancies of that
sort. Just as well perhaps, for it was the only form of amusement that
ever came into her home life.

The gay peal turned into a deafening clashing as at length he neared his
home. The old church stood only a stone's throw further on. They were
ringing the joy-bells with a vengeance. And then very suddenly he caught
sight of the tail-lamp of a car close to his own gate.

Dinah had returned then. They had actually chartered that car to convey
her from Great Mallowes. He pursed his lips to a whistle. The little girl
had been in clover indeed.

"She certainly won't think much of the home crusts after this," he
murmured to himself.

He walked Rupert round to the tumble-down stable, and dismounted.

For the next quarter of an hour he was busy over the animal. He thought
it a little strange that Dinah did not spy the stable-lamp from the
kitchen and come dancing out to greet him. He also wondered why the car
lingered so long. It looked as if someone other than the maid had
accompanied her, and were staying to tea.

He never took tea after a day's hunting; hot whisky and water and a bath
formed his customary programme, and then a tasty supper and bed.

He supposed on this occasion that he would have to go in and show
himself, though he was certainly not fit to be seen. Reluctantly he
pulled the bedraggled pink coat on again. After all, it did not greatly
matter. Hunting was its own excuse. No sportsman ever returned in the
apple-pie order in which he started.

Carelessly he sauntered in by way of the back premises, and was instantly
struck by the sound of a man's voice, well-bred, with a slightly haughty
intonation, speaking in one of the front rooms of the l