red a hundred paces, he stopped and turned up his trousers. The
sartorial forfeit to respectability had served its turn.

When Mr. Hopkins, the butler, returned a little unsteadily at a quarter
to ten to learn that his mistress had engaged a "proper toff" as his
footman, he was profoundly moved.

* * * * *

A visit to the West End offices of _Dogs' Country Homes, Ltd._, which
he made the next morning, satisfied Anthony that, by putting Patch in
their charge, he was doing the best he could. There was a vacancy at
the Hertfordshire branch, less than forty minutes from town, and he
arranged to lodge the terrier there the same afternoon. For the sum of
a guinea a week the little dog would be fed and housed and exercised.
A veterinary surgeon was attached to the staff, which was carefully
supervised. Patch would be groomed every day and bathed weekly.
Visitors were welcomed, and owners often called to see their dogs and
take them out for a walk. It was quite customary.

Lyveden emerged from the office a little comforted.

He spent a busy morning.

Deliberately he went to his club. There he wrote to the secretary,
resigning his membership. When he had sealed the letter, he looked
about him. The comfort--the luxury of it all was very tasty, very
appealing. He regretted that he had not used it more often. There was
a time when he had thought the place dull. Blasphemy! In his hungry
eyes the house became a temple--its members, votaries, sworn to go
sleepily about their offices--its rooms, upholstered shrines, chapels
of ease....

The door opened and a footman came in.

The silver dream shivered into a million flinders.

After the generous atmosphere of Pall Mall, the reek of the "old
clothes" shop was more offensive than usual. The six pounds ten,
however, was worth fighting for. Then some cheap hosiery had to be
purchased--more collars of the bearing-rein type, some stiff shirts,
made-up white ties, pinchbeck studs and cufflinks. As he emerged from
the shop, Anthony found himself wondering whether he need have been so
harsh with himself about the collars. After all, it was an age of
Socialism. Why should a footman be choked? He was as good as Mrs.
Slumper--easily. And she wasn't choked. She was squeezed, though, and
pinched....

He lodged his baggage--suit-case and hold-all--at the cloakroom, and
took Patch to lunch.

It was by no means the first time that the Sealyham