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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Speak, Tylo! Is your mistress called Constance?" Tylo vouchsafed no answer, only pricked his ears, hearing something inaudible to the girls. The next instant came a distinct though faint whistle. The beach dog departed at once, tearing down over the meadow in a graceful curve to leap a hedge into a shady lane beyond. "Well, we've learned a little," sighed Frances.
"That was a beastly experience," said the pleasant voice, "but you were so near shore when Saracen and I saw you, that you'd probably have made it with merely a wetting." "We haven't really thanked you," said Frances incoherently. "I do so much Mother " "Thank Saracen. He did it. It's nothing at all, and you mustn't let it trouble you. Hello, Tylo. Been off again on your own?"
Hot and panting from a run, Tylo willingly lay down by the girls and made not the least objection to having his collar examined. The unusually long plate bore considerable lettering. "Laurel Manor, St. Brelade's," read Frances in excitement. "Here's some French, Edith." "It's Italian, Fran. 'Palazzo Grassi, Via Ludovisi, Roma. Just two addresses and no name!" Edith ended in disappointment.
The trim little maid replenished the fire, replaced a daffodil fallen from a vase, patted Tylo, gave him a biscuit and vanished as noiselessly as she came. Left alone, Win began to walk slowly up and down the library, wondering about the matters which were "to arrange themselves." The tools Pierre carried, the direction in which he was walking, to Win's alert mind suggested the Manor cave.
I prefer nice soft little pussy-cats." "It's the beach dog," said Frances. "Do you suppose his lady is with him?" Edith looked eagerly about. The elevated castle meadow commanded a rather extended view but in no direction was any one visible. "I don't see her anywhere. Come here, Tylo. Oh, Fran, let's read the plate on his collar. Perhaps it will have her name."
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