off. "What was that docile creature we've just heard calling to its young?"
The ex-pugilist looked at him sullenly.
"Never you mind, sir; it ain't no business of yours. An' if I was you, I wouldn't make it your business to find out."
A moment later he had disappeared into the bushes, and Drummond was left alone. Assuredly a cheerful household, he reflected; just the spot for a rest-cure. Then he saw a figure on the lawn of the next house which banished everything else from his mind; and opening the gate, he walked eagerly towards Phyllis Benton.
IV
"I heard you were down here," she said gravely, holding out her hand to him. "I've been sick with anxiety ever since father told me he'd seen you."
Hugh imprisoned the little hand in his own huge ones, and smiled at the girl.
"I call that just sweet of you," he answered. "Just sweet.… Having people worry about me is not much in my line, but I think I rather like it."
"You're the most impossible person," she remarked, releasing her hand. "What sort of a night did you have?"
"Somewhat particoloured," returned Hugh lightly. "Like the hoary old curate's egg—calm in parts."
"But why did you go at all?" she cried, beating her hands together. "Don't you realise that if anything happens to you, I shall never forgive myself?"
