Neither, however, had the slightest intention of turning back.
Presently they descended from the car, and took a road leading uphill off the highway. Trees hung over one side, whilst on the other side stood a few villas with lawns upraised. Upon one of these lawns two great sheep-dogs rushed and stood at the brink of the grassy declivity, at some height above the road, barking and urging boisterously. Helena and Byrne stood still to watch them. One dog was grey, as is usual, the other pale fawn. They raved extravagantly at the two pedestrians. Helena laughed at them.
“They are——” she began, in her slow manner.
“Villa sheep-dogs baying us wolves,” he continued.
“No,” she said, “they remind me of Fasner and Fasolt.”
“Fasolt? They are like that. I wonder if they really dislike us.”
“It appears so,” she laughed.
“Dogs generally chum up to me,” he said.
Helena began suddenly to laugh. He looked at her inquiringly.
“I remember,” she said, still laughing, “at Knockholt—you—a half-grown lamb—a dog—in procession.” She marked the position of the three with her finger.
“What an ass I must have looked!” he said.
“Sort of silent Pied Piper,” she laughed.
“Dogs do follow me like that, though,” he said.
“They did Siegmund,” she said.
“Ah!” he exclaimed.
“I remember they had for a long time a little brown dog that followed him home.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed.
