dozen little white dogs any day," she taunted him.

"I saw one more than I wanted yesterday when I was out with my gun," he
admitted. "That new little beast of Anstey's ran in front of me into
every field and frightened the birds. I hardly had a shot."

"Tell Bob to keep it at home," advised Nell.

"I must," Ted acquiesced, and went.

In the course of the morning Bob Anstey, who always appeared some time
during each day, came in. Elinor found him standing up by the
chimney-piece, manipulating the silver calendar.

"You're a day too previous in your calculation," he said. "This isn't
the eighteenth, but the seventeenth, madame."

"Well, how funny!" Elinor cried. "Now I wonder how Aunt Carrie is! I
shall have to tell Ted the year isn't up, after all."

To Anstey that was rather a cryptic utterance, but he asked for no
explanation. These two were full of little jokes, of allusions, of
reminiscences, interesting to them, in which he had no part, close
friends as they were.

"Can you spare Ted to me for an hour or two this afternoon?" he asked.

"She could not," she said, smiling; "she could never spare Ted."

"Then come along with us yourself, madame. I want Ted's opinion of that
mare I've got my eye on at Wenderling. Your ladyship's opinion would be
of value, too."

"Ted has nothing to ride. Did you hear that his horse had wrenched its
shoulder yesterday? A wretch of a little dog ran out of a cottage and
got mixed up with Starlight's feet. Ted jerked the horse round to spare
the dog--and Starlight is as lame as a tree."

They would bicycle then, he decided. The roads were good. They would
get into Wenderling in time for tea, and take it easy, coming home in
the dusk. They must remember to take lamps. They would start at three.

She agreed to all arrangements, swaying herself idly in the
rocking-chair Ted had bought for her; a pretty slip of a girl with a
happy, almost childish face. Anstey little thought as he looked at her
how often and often through all his life he would with his mind's eye
see her so again!

As he was going through the door she called a laughing reproach to him.
"Your abominable dog spoilt my husband's sport yesterday, Mr Anstey.
Why do you keep such a wretch?"

"Which dog?" he asked, pulling up, smiling at her.

"Your horrid little white dog."

"I haven't got a little white dog," he said, and laughed, and went
away.

After all, Elinor did not share the expedition to Wenderling; f