"He wouldn't
bite anything." He bent down, took the animal by the scruff of the neck,
and proceeded to lead it back to the fire. The animal went without a
moment's hesitation; it would be too much to say that it exchanged a
wink with Jeremy, but something certainly passed between them. Back
again on the Turkey rug he became master of the situation. He did the
only thing possible: he disregarded entirely the general company and
addressed himself to the only person of ultimate importance--namely,
Mrs. Cole. He lay down on all fours, looked up directly into her face,
bared his teeth this time in a smile and not in a growl, and wagged his
farcical tail.

Mrs. Cole's psychology was of the simplest: if you were nice to her she
would do anything for you, but in spite of all her placidity she was
sometimes hurt in her most sensitive places. These wounds she never
displayed, and no one ever knew of them, and indeed they passed
very quickly--but there they occasionally were. Now on what slender
circumstances do the fates of dogs and mortals hang. Only that afternoon
Mr. Jellybrand, in the innocent self-confidence of his heart, had agreed
with Miss Maple, an elderly and bitter spinster, that the next sewing
meeting of the Dorcas Sisterhood should be held in her house and not at
the Rectory. He had told Mrs. Cole of this on his way upstairs to the
nursery. Now Mrs. Cole liked the Dorcas meetings at the Rectory; she
liked the cheerful chatter, the hospitality, the gentle scandal and her
own position as hostess.

She did not like--she never liked--Miss Maple, who was always pushing
herself forward, criticising and back-biting. Mr. Jellybrand should not
have settled this without consulting her. He had taken it for granted
that she would agree. He had said: "I agreed with Miss Maple that it
would be better to have it at her house. I'm sure you will think as
I do." Why should he be sure? Was he not forgetting his position a
little?...

Kindest woman in the world, she had seen with a strange un-Christian
pleasure the dog's advance upon the black trousers. Then Mr. Jellybrand
had been obviously afraid. He fancied, perhaps, that she too had been
afraid. He fancied, perhaps, that she was not mistress in her house,
that she could be browbeaten by her sister and her nurse.

She smiled at him. "There's no reason to be afraid, Mr. Jellybrand. ...
He's such a little dog."

Then the dog smiled at her.

"Poor little thing," she said. "He m