hought of
meeting you! Oh, don't let Duckie sit against your pretty frock! Come,
Duckie!"

But Duckie did not move, resting his back against Gyp's shin-bones. Mr.
Wagge, whose tongue had been passing over a mouth which she saw to its
full advantage for the first time, said abruptly:

"You 'aven't come to live here, 'ave you?"

"Oh no! I'm only with my father for the baths."

"Ah, I thought not, never havin' seen you. We've been retired here
ourselves a matter of twelve months. A pretty spot."

"Yes; lovely, isn't it?"

"We wanted nature. The air suits us, though a bit--er--too irony, as
you might say. But it's a long-lived place. We were quite a time lookin'
round."

Mrs. Wagge added in her thin voice:

"Yes--we'd thought of Wimbledon, you see, but Mr. Wagge liked this
better; he can get his walk, here; and it's more--select, perhaps. We
have several friends. The church is very nice."

Mr. Wagge's face assumed an uncertain expression. He said bluffly:

"I was always a chapel man; but--I don't know how it is--there's
something in a place like this that makes church seem more--more
suitable; my wife always had a leaning that way. I never conceal my
actions."

Gyp murmured:

"It's a question of atmosphere, isn't it?"

Mr. Wagge shook his head.

"No; I don't hold with incense--we're not 'Igh Church. But how are YOU,
ma'am? We often speak of you. 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."