The lady nodded gravely, and rising to her feet with the child’s hand still in hers, “I’ll tell Emma to take Olwen home,” she said, “and then she can tell Mattie Smith to expect you. Say goodbye to Mr. Solent, little one.”

Olwen held out her hand with one of the most complicated looks he had ever seen on a child’s face. It was repentant, and yet it was triumphant. It was mocking and mischievous, and yet it was, in a queer way, appealing and wistful.

“Well, I’ll see you again,” said Wolf, stooping down and kissing the child’s feverishly hot little fingers, “unless they send you off to bed before we get to the house.”

Olwen was obviously immensely relieved that he had refrained from hugging her or kissing her face.