She took the occasion to get up.
"We must go, I'm afraid. Good-bye. It's been very nice to meet you
again. When you see Daisy, will you please give her my love?"
Mrs. Wagge unexpectedly took a handkerchief from her reticule. Mr. Wagge
cleared his throat heavily. Gyp was conscious of the dog Duckie waddling
after them, and of Mrs. Wagge calling, "Duckie, Duckie!" from behind her
handkerchief.
Winton said softly:
"So those two got that pretty filly! Well, she didn't show much quality,
when you come to think of it. She's still with our friend, according to
your aunt."
Gyp nodded.
"Yes; and I do hope she's happy."
"HE isn't, apparently. Serves him right."
Gyp shook her head.
"Oh no, Dad!"
"Well, one oughtn't to wish any man worse than he's likely to get. But
when I see people daring to look down their noses at you--by Jove! I
get--"
"Darling, what does that matter?"
Winton answered testily:
"It matters very much to me--the impudence of it!" His mouth relaxed in
a grim little smile: "Ah, well--there's not much to choose between us
so far as condemning our neighbours goes. 'Charity Stakes--also ran,
Charles Clare Winton, the Church, and Mrs. Grundy.'"
They opened out to each other more in those few days at Tunbridge Wells
than they had for years. Whether the process of bathing softened his
crust, or the air that Mr.
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