Shouldn't you like to come up to my room and tidy yourself before dinner? I'll have a jug of hot water taken up to you."
Alayne thanked her. She would be glad to change her dress and wash.
"Then," continued Augusta, "I shall take you to the cottage—I think we had better drop that horrid name of Fiddler's Hut, now that you are going to live there—and show you our preparations. I suppose I should say my mother's preparations." And she directed a reproachful look at Renny.
He returned her look truculently. "I like the old name," he said. "I don't see any sense in changing it."
"I shall certainly never call it that again."
"Call it what you please! It's Fiddler's Hut." He gave an angry gesture.
"Why should one cling to low names?"
"You'll be sneering at Jalna next!"
Alayne thought: "Have I ever been away? Here they are, wrangling in exactly the same fashion. I don't see how I am to bear it. What has come over me now I am in this house? A mere movement of his arm disturbs me! In New York it was possible—here, I cannot! I cannot! Thank God, I shall be under another roof!"
A red patch of light, projected through the coloured glass of the window, rested on Renny's head. His hair seemed to be on fire. He said, contemptuously: "The cottage, eh? Better call it Rose Cottage, or Honeysuckle Cottage. Make it sweet while you're about it!" It was a passion with him that nothing about the place should be changed.
The front door was thrown open, and Wakefield ran in. With him came a rush of spring wind and three dogs. The two spaniels began to bark and jump about their master. The old sheep-dog sniffed Alayne and wagged the clump of fur that was his tail. He remembered her.
Wakefield held out a small bunch of windflowers. "I've brought these for you," he said. "You're to keep them in your room."
Alayne clasped him to her. How adorable his little
