"In fact you prefer nature to human nature?"
"I suppose I do." She frowned rather thoughtfully. "At least I would always rather be out of the house than in it. And it's so lovely by the river in the summer. I go for walks before breakfast with my dog, and the world is so beautiful in the early morning before the mists have all vanished in the sun."
"Ah! That reminds me!" Herrick rose. "You haven't seen my dog! I'll go and bring her in; she's lying in the shade at the back at present."
He went out, returning in a moment with the stately Olga, who had been, as he suggested, sleeping in the shade. He kept his hand on her silver collar as she advanced, fearing that Toni's queer mixture of garments might upset her canine mind; but Olga apparently took her master's friends on trust, and presently strolled over to Toni and laid one long paw tentatively upon her knee.
Toni, delighted, stroked the beautiful creature affectionately, and Herrick said to himself cheerfully:
"Come, she's got one thing in her favour anyway! If she can't appreciate good literature she understands dogs—and after all they are worth more as humanizers of the race, than any amount of books."
"She's lovely, Mr. Herrick!" Toni lifted delighted eyes. "What do you call her? Something nice, I hope."
"Her name is Olga," he returned. "Not very original for a Russian dog, I confess, but she was already christened when she came to me. You like her?"
"I think she's a darling, and Olga is quite a nice name. A friend of mine at school had a dog like her, and we used to take her into Kensington Gardens for a run on Saturday afternoons. Her name was Pearl. It's a pretty name for a white wolfhound, isn't it? They're like pearls, somehow, so smooth and shining."
She was stroking the dog's satiny head as she spoke, and did not notice the change in the man's face; but when he remained silent she looked up as though to see why he did not respond.