big retriever which was sitting on the terrace. The morning was
fine, but cloudy. Lady Mickleham wore blue. The dog swallowed
the pate with greediness.

"It's so bad for him," sighed she; "but the dear likes it so
much."

"How human the creatures are," said I.

"Do you know," pursued Lady Mickleham, "that the Dowager says I'm
extravagant. She thinks dogs ought not to be fed on pate de foie
gras."

"Your extravagance," I observed, "is probably due to your having
been brought up on a moderate income. I have felt the effect
myself."

"Of course," said Dolly, "we are hit by the agricultural
depression."

"The Carters also," I murmured, "are landed gentry."

"After all, I don't see much point in economy, do you, Mr. Carter?"

"Economy," I remarked, putting my hands in my pockets, "is going
without something you do want in case you should, some day, want
something which you probably won't want."

"Isn't that clever?" asked Dolly in an apprehensive tone.