Ferrall and one other person. And if you try to look happy beside me, I
may tell you--somewhere between sherry and cognac--Oh, yes; I've done two
things: I have your dog for you!"

"Not Sagamore?" he said incredulously as he was seating her.

"Certainly Sagamore. I said to Mr. Quarrier, 'I want Sagamore,' and when
he tried to give him to me, I made him take my cheque. Now you may draw
another for me at your leisure, Mr. Siward. Tell me, are you
pleased?"--for she was looking for the troubled hesitation in his face
and she saw it dawning.

"Mr. Quarrier doesn't like me, you know--"

"But I do," she said coolly. "I told him how much pleasure it would give
me. That is sufficient--is it not?--for everybody concerned."

"He knew that you meant to--"

"No, that concerns only you and me. Are you trying to spoil my pleasure
in what I have done?"

"I can't take the dog, Miss Landis--"

"Oh," she said, vexed; "I had no idea you were vindictive--"

There was a silence; he bent forward a trifle, gravely scrutinising a
"hand-painted" name card, though it might not have astonished him to
learn that somebody's foot had held the brush. Somewhere in the vicinity
Grace Ferrall had discovered a woman who supported dozens of relatives