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 your dog? Bit of a philosopher, isn't he?"

Mrs. Wagge answered:

"Oh, he's a naughty dog, aren't you, Duckie?"

The dog Duckie, feeling himself the cynosure of every eye, rose and
stood panting into Gyp's face. She took the occasion to get up.

"We must go, I'm afraid. Good-bye. It's been very nice to meet you
again. When you see Daisy, will you please give her my love?"

Mrs. Wagge unexpectedly took a handkerchief from her reticule. Mr. Wagge
cleared his throat heavily. Gyp was conscious of the dog Duckie waddling
after them, and of Mrs. Wagge calling, "Duckie, Duckie!" from behind her
handkerchief.

Winton said softly:

"So those two got that pretty filly! Well, she didn't show much quality,
when you come to think of it. She's still with our friend, according to
your aunt."

Gyp nodded.

"Yes; and I do hope she's happy."

"HE isn't, apparently. Serves him right."

Gyp shook her head.

"Oh no, Dad!"

"Well, one oughtn't to wish any man worse than he's likely to get. But
when I see people daring to look down their noses at you--by Jove! I
get--"

"Darling, what does