“I’m just selling something,” answered Judy. Then she turned to him and spoke softly. “I say, do you really like dogs?” said she.
“Of course I do.” The young man opened surprised grey eyes at her, as who should say: “Now, do I look like a man who doesn’t like dogs?”
“Well, then,” she said, “Alcibiades is for sale.”
“Is that his name? Why?”
“Oh, surely you know: wasn’t it Alcibiades who gave up being dictator or something rather than have his dog’s ears cut off?”
“I seem to remember something of the sort,” he said.
“Well,” said she, “his price is twenty guineas, but——”
He whistled very softly.
“Yes—I know,” she said, “but I’ll—yes, Aunt, in one moment!” She went on in an agonised undertone: “His price is twenty guineas. Say you’ll have him. Say it loud. You won’t really have to pay anything for him—No, I’m not mad.”
“I’ll give you twenty guineas for the dog,” said the man, standing straight and soldierly against the tumbled mass of mats and pin-cushions and chair-backs.