“Do you know,” she said slowly, “I have just thought—Mr. Beaumaris, something tells me that Lady Bridlington may not like this dear little dog!”
Mr. Beaumaris waited in patient resignation for his certain fate to descend upon him.
Arabella turned impulsively towards him. “Mr. Beaumaris, do you think— would you—?”
He looked down into her anxious, pleading eyes, a most rueful twinkle in his own. “Yes, Miss Tallant,” he said. “I would.”
Her face broke into smiles. “ Thank you!” she said. “I knew I might depend upon you!” She turned the mongrel’s head gently towards Mr. Beaumaris. “There, sir! that is your new master, who will be very kind to you! Only see how intelligently he looks, Mr. Beaumaris! I am sure he understands. I daresay he will grow to be quite devoted to you!”
Mr. Beaumaris looked at the animal, and repressed a shudder. “Do you think so indeed?” he said.
“Oh, yes! He is not, perhaps, a very beautiful little dog, but mongrels are often the cleverest of all dogs.” She smoothed the creature’s rough head, and added innocently: “He will be company for you, you know. I wonder you do not have a dog already.”
“I do—in the country,” lie replied.
“Oh, sporting dogs! They are not at all the same.”
Mr. Beaumaris, after another look at his prospective companion, found himself able to agree with this remark with heartfelt sincerity.