"And he talks everlastingly about his dog—that William Bloomsbury creature. I know all the points of a bull-terrier now—'Well-set head
gradually tapering to muzzle, which is very powerful and well-filled up in front of the eyes. Nose large and black. Teeth dead-level and big' ... oh! and reams more, every bit of him accurately described."
"I'm a little afraid of those teeth so 'dead-level and big'—I foresee trouble."
"Oh, no," said Meg easily. "He's evidently a most affectionate brute. That young man puzzles me. He's manifestly devoted to the dog, but he's so sure he'd be stolen he'd rather have him away from him down at Wren's End than here with him, to run that risk."
"Surely," said Jan, "Kensington Gardens are some distance from St. John's Wood."
"So one would think, but the rich and idle take taxis, and he seems to think he can in some way insure the welfare of his dog through the children and me."
"And what about the old gentlemen? Do they join the party as well?"
"Oh, dear no; no old gentlemen would dare to come within miles of us with that young man in charge of little Fay. He's like your Mr. Ledgard—very protective."
"I like him for being anxious about his dog, but I'm not quite so sure that I approve of the means he takes to insure its happiness."
"I didn't encourage him in the least, I assure you. I pointed out that he most certainly ought not to be walking about with a nurse and two children. That the children without the nurse would be all right, but that my being there