Rose turned and held out her hand. “What a beautiful creature,” she remarked; “who does he belong to? Who is coming?”
Her companion gave her an enigmatical glance, observing the collie as he approached and laid his head against her knee. The step on the stair had now reached the landing, and they heard Aunt Hannah’s chair scrape as she moved and her knitting needles rattled on the floor, for she had been startled out of a nap.
“Who is it?” Rose repeated, framing the question with her lips.
“Fox,” replied Allestree dryly, laying down his palette and lighting a cigarette; “he has an uncommonly retentive memory it appears.”
She glanced at him quickly, a suddenly illuminated understanding in her eyes, and blushed exquisitely, for she was still young enough to be easily embarrassed. At the same moment Fox pushed aside the portière and entered the room.
“Hello, Bobby,” he began, and then paused abruptly at the sight of Rose. “I fear I’m an intruder,” he added courteously.
Allestree smiled grimly and presented him to Miss Temple. “On the contrary, I think you got the time pretty closely,” he remarked ironically.
Fox laughed. “Guilty!” he exclaimed with perfect good humor; “down Sandy!” he added sharply to his collie; “you’ve bewitched the dog, Miss Temple; he rarely makes friends with strangers.”
“Then I appreciate all the more his advances,” she replied smiling, “a dog always knows a friend.”
“And an honest man,” said Fox; “I’m free to confess that I don’t trust one who dislikes dogs.”