"But—what will you do?"
"Oh, I can stand being alone. I don't mind. There's no doubt about it; you must have the dog——" He glanced down at the little creature[172] and caught his breath sharply as the puppy opened one eye and wagged its absurd tail feebly.
The girl rose lightly and gracefully from the sand, refusing his assistance, and stood looking down at the puppy. The little thing was on its clumsy feet, wagging and wriggling with happiness, and gazing up adoringly from Gray to Constance Leslie.
The girl looked at the dog, then at Gray.
"It—it seems too cruel," she said. "I can't bear to take him away from you."
"Oh, that's all right. I'll get on very well alone."
"You are generous. You are very generous. But after the way you expressed yourself concerning the dog, I don't feel that I can possibly take him."
"You really must. I don't blame you at all for falling in love with him. Besides, one adores what one rescues, above everything in the world."
"But—but I thought that you thought you had rescued him?" she faltered.
"It was a close call. I think perhaps that you arrived just a fraction of a second sooner than I did."