e."

"I'm sorry you did that. Will you then just tell him exactly what I
said--exactly, you know. That I thought it would be 'No'; but that I
only didn't say so at once because you wished it."

"Very well," said Dick.

It was a minute or so before either spoke again. Jenny had that
delightful and soothing gift which prevents silence from being empty. It
is the same gift, in another form, as that which enables its possessor
to put people at their ease. (It is, I suppose, one of the elements of
tact.) Dick had a sense that they were still talking gently and
reasonably, though he could not quite understand all that Jenny was
meaning.

She interrupted it by a sudden sentence.

"I wonder if it's fair," she said. "You know I'm all but certain. I only
don't say so because--"

"Let it be at that," said Dick. "It's my risk, isn't it?"

(III)

When he had left her at last, she sat on perfectly still in the same
place. The robin had given it up in despair: this human creature was not
going to scratch garden-paths as she sometimes did, and disclose rich
worms and small fat maggots. But a cat had come out instead and was now
pacing with stiff forelegs, lowered head and trailing tail, across the
sunny grass, endeavoring to give an impression that he was bent on some
completely remote business of his own.

He paused at the edge of the shadow and eyed the girl malignantly.

"Wow!" said the cat.

There was no response.

"Wow!" said the cat.

Jenny roused herself.

"Wow!" said Jenny meditatively.

"Wow!" said the cat, walking on.

"Wow!" said Jenny.

Again there was a long silence.

"Wow!" said Jenny indignantly.

The cat turned a slow head sideways as he began to cross the path, but
said nothing. He waited for another entreaty, but Jenny paid no more
attention. As he entered the yews he turned once more.

"Wow!" said the cat, almost below his breath.

But Jenny made no answer. The cat cast one venomous look and
disappeared.

* * * * *

Then there came out a dog--a small brown and black animal, very sturdy
on his legs, and earnest and independent in air and manner. He was the
illegitimate offspring of a fox-terrier. He trotted briskly across from
the direction of the orchard, diagonally past Jenny. As he crossed the
trail of the cat he paused, smelt, and followed it up for a yard or two,
till he identified for certain that it proceeded from an acquaintance;
then he turned