we must chance it."

And so the kennelman shrugged his shoulders and the Lady Desdemona
continued to enjoy life, the new and wider life to which she was being
introduced by that hardened wanderer and past-master in the lore of the
wild--Finn.

It may be that Colonel Forde himself was more than a little worried
about it when, a week later, the young bloodhound disappeared one
afternoon and did not show up again next day. There had been further
communications with the house of the redoubtable champion Windle
Hercules in Hampshire. The Lady Desdemona's line of travel had been
chosen. Bates was to escort her on the nuptial journey, and all
arrangements for the wedding of the distinguished pair had been
completed. And now--"Just as if she mighter bin any tramp's cur," as
Bates feelingly put it--Desdemona had elected to stay away and to remain
away. And the news from Nuthill showed that--"That there plaguy great
wolfhound" was also on the missing list.

On the fourth day of absence, all search having proved unsuccessful, the
police were notified. Then, bright and early on the morning of the fifth
day, the Lady Desdemona walked quietly up to the kitchen door at Shaws,
followed leisurely by Finn, who, after seeing his mate welcomed with
some enthusiasm by the cook and several members of her excited staff,
turned about and loped easily away in the direction of Nuthill.

But to the experts concerned it speedily became apparent that the
alliance with Champion Windle Hercules must be indefinitely postponed.
Lady Desdemona would have none of him. It seemed she knew her own mind
very well, was perfectly calm and content, but quite determined in her
opposition to any hint of matrimonial _pourparlers_ with the admitted
champion of her race. Bates the kennelman pished and tushed, and thought
he knew all about it. The Master felt pretty sure he knew all about it.
The Colonel just smiled and said that Desdemona was young yet, and that,
for his part, he always had thought two years a better marrying age than
eighteen months.

Meantime, you could not have found a more placidly happy and contented
hound in England than the Lady Desdemona; and there were very few days
on which she did not meet Finn, either at Nuthill or at Shaws.

The beautiful early summer weeks slid by, and the young bloodhound grew
more sedate and less given to violent exercise. And then Bates succeeded
in persuading the Colonel into allowing him to kennel the Lady