"That painted dog?" whispered Miss Beaver's tremulous lips.
"Eh? Yes. Ah, yes, the dog," murmured the doctor, too casually.
"You—you—dared!" uttered Miss Beaver incoherently under her breath.
"Not altogether," he protested against her ear.
He pointed upward. Miss Beaver's eyes followed that gesture and met the admonitory, inscrutable, but very gratified pictured eyes of old Mr. Wiley.