A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her!’ ‘Ah, Gérard,’ uttered the girl in a gratified tone as Major Alderley walked through into the light. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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