down and kissed the nose of the diminutive brown Pomeranian
that lay, snug and irresponsive, beneath a shawl on her lap.

"Look here," said Strudwarden, "this eternal Louis business is getting to
be a ridiculous nuisance. Nothing can be done, no plans can be made,
without some veto connected with that animal's whims or convenience being
imposed. If you were a priest in attendance on some African fetish you
couldn't set up a more elaborate code of restrictions. I believe you'd
ask the Government to put off a General Election if you thought it would
interfere with Louis's comfort in any way."

By way of answer to this tirade Mrs. Strudwarden stooped down again and
kissed the irresponsive brown nose. It was the action of a woman with a
beautifully meek nature, who would, however, send the whole world to the
stake sooner than yield an inch where she knew herself to be in the
right.

"It isn't as if you were in the least bit fond of animals," went on
Strudwarden, with growing irritation; "when we are down at Kerryfield you
won't stir a step to take the house dogs out, even if they're dying for a
run, and I don't think you've been in the stables twice in your life. You
laugh at what you call the fuss that's being made over the extermination
of plumage birds, and you are quite indignant with me if I interfere on
behalf of an ill-treated, over-driven animal on the road. And yet you
insist on every one's plans being made subservient to the convenience of
that stupid little morsel of fur and selfishness."

"You are prejudiced against my little Louis," said Lena, with a world of
tender regret in her voice.

"I've never had the chance of being anything else but prejudiced against
him," said Strudwarden; "I know what a jolly responsive companion a
doggie can be, but I've never been allowed to put a finger near Louis.
You say he snaps at any one except you and your maid, and you snatched
him away from old Lady Peterby the other day, when she wanted to pet him,
for fear he would bury his teeth in her. All that I ever see of him is
the top of his unhealthy-looking little nose, peeping out from his basket
or from your muff, and I occasionally hear his wheezy little bark when
you take him for a walk up and down the corridor. You can't expect one
to get extravagantly fond of a dog of that sort. One might as well work
up an affection for the cuckoo in a cuckoo-clock."

"He loves me," said Lena, rising from the table, and bear