But old Dimity retained Wolf’s fingers quite a long while in her bony hand; and with absorbed and searching interest, as if she had been a fortune-teller, she peered into his countenance.

“The gentleman be far from what thee or any others have reckoned,” repeated the crone slowly. “I’ve always known you were a deep one, Mr. Solent,” she added.

“I’m glad you think better of me than Mrs. Torp does, Dimity,” threw in Wolf, and he glanced anxiously over their heads toward the boundary of the field, his mind full of the deserted Christie.