He was glad it was over, and, for Polly's sake, that it had passed off satisfactorily.

It had made a poor enough start: at one moment he had been within an ace of picking up his hat and stalking out.

But he found it difficult at the present happy crisis to bear a grudge--even if it had not been a proved idiosyncrasy of his, always to let a successful finish erase a bad beginning.

None the less, he would not have belonged to the nation he did, had he not indulged in a caustic chuckle and a pair of good-humoured pishes and pshaws, at Turnham's expense.

"Like a showman in front of his booth!" Then he thought again of the domestic scene he had been privileged to witness, and grew grave.