He was plainly fond of her. But he had not spoken
as if Dinah had effaced herself as completely abroad as she did at home.
"Oh, yes, the little baggage enjoyed herself--was as gay as a lark--till
she got ill," he had said. "You may find her something of a handful when
she gets back, Bathurst. She's stretched her wings a bit since she left
you."
Bathurst shrugged his shoulders with the comforting reflection that he
would not have the trouble of dealing with her. If she had been giddy,
after all, it was but natural. Her mother had not been particularly
steady in the days of her wild youth. And anyhow he was sure her mother
would speedily break her in again. She had a will of iron before which
Dinah was _always_ forced to bend.
He rode on along the highroad. It was not more than half a mile farther
to his home on the outskirts of the village. Somewhere in the gloom ahead
of him church-bells were pealing. It was practice-night, he remembered.
Dinah loved the sound of the bells. She would feel that they were ringing
in her honour. Funny little Dinah! The child was full of fancies of that
sort. Just as well perhaps, for it was the only form of amusement that
ever came into her home life.
The gay peal turned into a deafening clashing as at length he neared his
home. The old church stood only a stone's throw further on. They were
ringing the joy-bells with a vengeance.
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