ption of a luncheon at Newport in
honor of a prize chow dog attended by all the high-bred pups of
Bellview Avenue, including Jack's own bull terrier Scotty, which in an
inadvertent moment devoured the small Pekingese of Jack's nearest
neighbor, a dereliction of social observance which caused the complete
and permanent social ostracism of Scotty--and Jack.

"How terrible!" said Una.

"It was, really, but it was a kind of poetic canine justice, you know.
The Pekingese just stared at Scotty and stared without wagging his
tail. Very impolite, not wagging your tail at a luncheon. Scotty grew
embarrassed and angry and then--just took him at a gulp. It was the
easiest way out."

"Or _in_," I suggested.

"Scotty is naturally polite. He never _could_ abide a tail that
wouldn't wag."

"Nor can I," said Una with a laugh. "Dogs' tails _must_ be meant to
wag, or what are they there for? I wish people had tails and then you
could tell whether they were pleasant or not."

"Some of 'em have," said Jack. "Hoofs too--and horns."

"I don't believe that," she laughed.

Jerry took no animated part in the conversation except when we spoke
of Una's work. Then he waxed eloquent until Una stopped him. Mrs.
Habberton, I think, watched Jerry a little dubiously as though there
was something about him that she couldn't understand. Some feminine
instinct was waking. But Una's cheerfulness and interest in all things
was unabated. We three men smoked--I, too, for I had lately fallen
from grace--with the ladies' permission in the drawing-room where Una
played upon the piano and sang. I don't think that Jerry had known
about her music for he had said nothing of it to me, and when her
voice began softly:

"Oh doux printemps d'autrefois"--

Massenet's "Elegie," as I afterwards learned--a hush fell over the
room and we three men sat staring at the sweet upturned profile, as
her lovely throat gave forth the tender sad refrain:

"Oh doux printemps d'autrefois, vertes saisons ou
Vous avez fui pour toujours
Je ne vois plus le ciel bleu
Je n'entends plus les chants joyeux des oiseaux
En emportant mon bonheur,
O bien aime tu t'en es alle
Et c'est en vain que revient le printemps."

She sang on to the end and long after she had finished we still sat
silent, immovable as though fearful to break the spell that was upon
us. Jerry was near me and I had caught a glimpse of his face when she
began. He glanced toward he