And he circled wildly, barking at the top of his lungs and making futile little running leaps up the shining trunk of the tree.
As well hope for secrecy after the firing of a cannon as after such a fanfare of barking! Gavin Brice ran forward to grasp the rackety collie.

As he did so, he was vaguely aware that a slender and white-clad form was crossing the lawn, at a run, toward the tree.
At the path-end, he and the figure came face to face.

Though the other's back was to the fading light, Gavin knew her for the girl he had seen in the Australian pine lane, at Miami, that day.
"Pardon me," he began, trying in vain to make himself audible through the collie's frantic barking.

"I found your dog, and I have brought him back to you.

We--" The glib explanation died, in his amazement-contracting throat.