"Oh, please don't," said Sybil holding out an ungloved and very pretty hand, deprecatingly, between the dog and the young man's uplifted cane; "all dogs, and even cats, like me."
"Thereby acknowledging your power—eh?" responded the stranger, looking down admiringly into the soft, bright, earnest face, and clear dark eyes that were turned upward to his own.
"I don't know what you mean by my power," said Sybil, with simplicity; "but, as most people like me, why should not dogs—and—and this is such a splendid fellow!'
"I have brought him from a very distant country—he was the farewell gift of a friend who died, otherwise," he added, gallantly, "I should beg your acceptance of him."
Sybil now coloured more deeply, and became uneasy; but the stranger resumed in his most suave tone,—
"And you have been sketching this pretty little lake—like me? Our tastes and occupation are quite similar!"
Sybil had closed her book of sketches.
"Will you not do me the favour to——"
"Show you my poor production—do you mean, sir?"
"Yes."