The plump lady ignored the remark. She declined to recognise anything in common between her Christmas-day and David's.
"Where is your sphere of work?" she demanded, hoarsely.
"Central Africa," replied David, in a meek voice, devoutly wishing himself back there.
At that moment the door burst open, by reason of a bump against it, and a black poodle trotted in, identical with the dog of David's imagining, excepting that its tufts were tied up with red ribbon.
David whistled joyfully. "Hullo, Chappie!" he said. "Come here, old fellow."
The poodle paused, surprised, and looked at him; one fore-paw uplifted.
The plump lady made an inarticulate sound, and dropped her lorgnon.
But David felt sure of his ground. "Come on, Chappie," he said. "Let's be friends."
The poodle trotted up and shook hands. David bent down and patted his beautiful coat.