turned on Vane. "Why did you do it?" she stormed. "Why . . .
why . . .?" For a while they looked at one another, and then she
laughed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, let's be sensible. . . . The
toast is getting cold, my dear man. . . ."

"I can't believe it," said Vane gravely. "We've done nothing to
deserve such a punishment as that. . . ."

And so for a while they talked of trivial things--of plays, and books,
and people. But every now and then would fall a silence, and their
eyes would meet--and hold. Just for a moment or two; just for long
enough to make them both realise the futility of the game they were
playing. Then they would both speak at once, and contribute some gem
of sparkling wit, which would have shamed even the writer of mottoes in
crackers. . . .

A tentative paw on Joan's knee made her look down. Binks--tired of his
abortive blasts at an unresponsive hole--desired refreshment, and from
time immemorial tea had been the one meal at which he was allowed to
beg. He condescended to eat two slices of saffron cake, and then Vane
presented the slop basin to Joan.

"He likes his tea," he informed her, "with plenty of milk and sugar.
Also you must stir it with your finger to see that it isn't too hot.
He'll never forgive you if it burns his nose."

"You really are the most exacting household," laughed Joan, putting the
bowl down on the floor.

"We are," said Vane gravely. "I hope you feel equal to coping with
us. . . ."

She was watching Binks as he stood beside her drinking his tea, and
gave no sign of having heard his remark.

"You know," he continued after a while, "your introduction to Binks at
such an early stage in the proceedings has rather spoilt the masterly
programme I had outlined in my mind. First you were to be charmed and
softened by Mrs. Green's wonderful tea. Secondly, you were to see
Binks; be formally introduced. You were to fall in love with him on
sight, so to speak; vow that you could never be parted from such a
perfect dog again. And then, thirdly. . . ."

"His appearance is all that I could desire," she interrupted
irrelevantly; "but I beg to point out that he is an excessively dirty
feeder. . . ."

Vane stood up and looked at the offender. "You mean the shower of tea
drops that goes backwards on to the carpet," he said reflectively.
"'Twas ever thus with Binks."

"And the tea leaves adhering to his beard." She pointed an accusing
finger at the unrepentant