Cinders, whose temper was ruffled, glared at Mordaunt and cursed him in an undertone throughout the meal, notwithstanding the choice morsels with which his young mistress sought to propitiate him.

“I do hope you haven’t made him dislike you,” she said, when at length they returned to the car.  “He is rather tiresome with people he doesn’t like.”

“If he doesn’t behave himself, we will send him to Bertrand to take care of,” Mordaunt rejoined.

“Indeed we won’t!” Chris declared, with warmth.  “He has never been away from me day or night since I first had him.”

At which declaration Mordaunt raised his eyebrows, and said no more.

He had always known Cinders for a dog of character, but not till that day had he credited him with the remarkable intuition by which he seemed to know—­and resent—­the fact that his mistress was no longer his exclusive property.  It may have been that Chris herself imparted something of the new state of affairs to him by the very zeal of her guardianship.  But undoubtedly, whatever its source, the knowledge had dawned in Cinders’ brain and with it a fierce jealousy which he had never displayed in Mordaunt’s presence before.

It was an afternoon of unclouded sunshine.  Chris lay back in her seat, somewhat wearied but quite content, watching the cornfields with their red wealth of poppies, watching the long, white road before them, and now and then the unerring hands that held the wheel.

When at length they neared Kellerton she roused herself and became more animated.  “It’s been a lovely ride, Trevor.  Let’s go for one every day.  Sometimes we might go down to the sea—­it’s only ten miles.  But we will wait till Bertie comes for that.  Ah, there is the lodge!  How smart it looks!  And they have actually taken the thistles out of the drive!  I shouldn’t have known it.”

She sat up with eager delight in her eyes.  The lodge-gates were open; they ran smoothly in without a pause and on up the long avenue to the old grey house.

Chris was enchanted.  It was such a home-coming as she had never pictured.

“It’s like a dream,” she said.  “I can’t believe it’s true.  Everything looks so different.  The garden was an absolute wilderness the last time we were here.”

It had been turned into a paradise since then, and every second brought fresh discoveries to her ecstatic gaze.

“I didn’t know it could be so lovely,” she declared.  “And you’ve done it all in a few weeks.  Trevor, you’re a magician!”

He smiled at her enthusiasm.  “Oh, it isn’t all my doing.  I have only been down twice since the day you were here.  I put it into capable hands, that’s all.  Nothing has been altered, only set to rights.”

“It’s lovely!” cried Chris.

Tired and thirsty though she was, she could hardly wait to have tea on the terrace before the house before she was off along the dear, familiar paths to her favourite nook under a great yew-tree whose branches swept the ground.  A rustic seat surrounded the ancient trunk.