for Road's End I can do with the sea breeze anyway!"
Ho for Road's End was all very well, but when Moira saw the place she felt a sinking of the heart. Lonely, Charles had said; but she had never pictured anything so savagely remote as this gray stone house on the cliff. Silent and dark and ugly it stood near the edge, under an overcast windbroken sky. Beyond it, a path led down through a scattering of jagged rocks to the sea. Three wind-bent fir trees at the back leaned inward, all their branches flung out toward the house, as if long ago they had frozen in that attitude of supplication.
Moira felt suddenly cold. Oh, why, why did it look like this? Why couldn't the sun have stayed out? She shivered as the car drew closer, and slid her hand under Charles' arm.
"A bit out of the world." He gave her a half-apologetic look. "But you said you wouldn't mind, you know, darling. As long as we're together, you said."
"I know." She squeezed his arm. "Silly, of course that's all that matters!"
But the feeling of chill and apprehension persisted. This house wanted none of her.
A furious barking broke out within the house, high-pitched and almost hysterical. Charles laughed, the tension broken.
"Jet's heard the car! Now Mrs. Bunty will let her out!"
The heavy front door opened slowly, and a black form came bounding out to tear round the lawn in widening circles, still barking wildly.
"What a beautiful dog!" exclaimed Moira involuntarily.
"She's taken two prizes." Charles' manner was offhand, as he guided the car to a stop. "I've had her from a puppy, you know. That's seven years."
Jet continued to race about in circles, her fluid black body moving with effortless grace. Her pointed ears were laid close to her head, her long muscles rippled under the smooth silky coat.
"She's a beautiful thing—I'm going to love her. But what's she running for?"
"Showing off, for my benefit. Now she'll pretend I'm not here—it's a regular ritual. She hasn't noticed you yet."
Slowing to a stop, Jet abruptly sat down, a tall graceful creature with a fine economy of line that delighted Moira's artist soul. Conspicuously she did not look at the car, but at a point twenty feet to one side of it. Her yellow eyes were fixed upon that point with what appeared to be great interest; only the erect alertness of the pointed ears betrayed her.
"Born actress, isn't she?"
Charles spoke with pride.
Jet's head moved just a fraction. Her gaze wandered to the sky. A crow flapped across her range of vision, and she barked at it once rather mechanically.
Charles stepped down from the car, and on the instant she had covered the intervening distance in two bounds. In a frenzy of joy, she leapt to his face half a dozen times before he could quiet her.
Suddenly the dog stood back. Its body stiffened. Watchful, wary, hostile, the yellow eyes stared into Moira's.
"Get out and make friends with her. Don't be afraid!"
"I'm not afraid!" Moira was rather resentful as she scrambled out of the car. She held out a coaxing hand. "Hello, Jet! Good girl—come then!"
Jet backed awray, her eyes still intent upon Moira's. Her coat bristled almost imperceptibly.
"It's no use, Charles." Something—reaction perhaps—caused an absurd prickle of tears behind Moira's eyelids. This overcast sky, this foreboding house, the unfriendly dog. "She—we'll just have to get used to each other by degrees."
Charles waved his newspaper at the stout aproned figure in the doorway.
"Back on time, Mrs. Bunty!" he called. Smiling, Mrs. Bunty shook her head. She knew, and he knew, that she had stayed a day beyond her time, and that it wras distinctly felt on both sides as a favor. Her presence was needed at home, and her bicycle stood waiting by the kitchen door.
"I'm glad to see you back, sir. Bunty's
