"But he's wet still," he said. "He'll spoil that pretty dress of yours."
"My pretty dress was made to be spoiled," she said, "Give it to me, please, and get your tea."
"Do you mean it?" he asked, with a surprise which made her flush with resentment, and something like shame.
For reply, she bent forward, took the dog from him, and tried to settle it on her lap; but the mite looked piteously at Stafford and whined, its big eyes imploring him to let it come back.
But Stafford stroked it and bade it sit still, and presently it curled itself up.
"It has gone to sleep," said Maude. "It has soon forgotten its trouble."
"It's a way dogs have," said Stafford. "May I smoke? George! what a lovely afternoon!"
She glanced at him as he leant back in his chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed before him.
"You look happy," she said, with a faint smile.
"Oh, I am," he said, with a sudden flush and a start; for now the dog was off his mind, it had instantly swung back to Ida.