"What becomes of Soul when you go out in the evening?" Ben asked.
"He mopes," said Jack. "I've got an excellent landlady, who does her best to keep him happy, but he has no life away from me really. Sometimes when I walk and go to the pit, I take him to the theatre and leave him with friendly commissionaires; but it isn't a kindness because, as I can't give him any notion of how long I shall be, he spends the time in searching the appearance of every passer-by. Considering how near the ground his eyes are, this must be a very tiring and anxious occupation."
"But when you do arrive, his joy makes up for everything," Ben suggested.
"Yes," said Jack. "Dogs have wonderful compensations. Still, I doubt if the Fates were quite kind to them to make them at once so understanding and so dumb, or to us to make them so short-lived. You like them, don't you?"
"I adore them," said Ben.
"Would you care to have Soul?" Jack asked. It was a terrible wrench, but he asked it. ("Love my dog, love me.")
"Oh, no," said Ben. "Never! If ever a dog belonged to one person, and one only, it is Soul. And even if I accepted him, he would still be yours. He would be too loyal to transfer any but superficial affections. But you are very generous to make the offer at all," she added, "and I shall never forget it."
Melanie was sitting up when Ben returned. She was one of those girls who prefer the small hours.
"How do you find Mr. Harford?" she asked.
"He's very jolly," said Ben.