incapable of desiring it. They don't know, they don't realize, the
bitterness of life on a chain."

"Don't know and don't care!" declared Piers. "They deserve to be chained
up themselves. One day on a chain would teach your nice people quite a
lot. But no one cultivates feeling in this valley of dry bones. It isn't
the thing nowadays. Let a dog whine his heart out on a chain! Who cares?
There's no room for sentimental scruples of that sort. Can't you see the
Reverend Stephen smile at the bare idea of extending a little of his
precious Christian pity to a dog?" He broke off with a laugh that rang
defiantly. "Now it's your turn!" he said.

"My turn?" Avery glanced at his dark, handsome face with a touch of
curiosity.

He met her eyes with his own as if he would beat them back. "Aren't you
generous enough to remind me that but for your timely interference I
should have beaten my own dog to death only yesterday? You were almost
ready to flog me for it at the time."

"Oh, that!" Avery said, looking away again. "Yes, of course I might
remind you of that if I wanted to be personal; but, you see,--I don't."

"Why not!" said Piers stubbornly. "You were personal enough yesterday."

The dimple, for which Avery was certainly not responsible, appeared
suddenly near her mouth. "I am afraid I lost my temper yesterday," she
said.

"How wrong of you!" said Piers. "I hope you confessed to the