'No.'

'Then you are musical?'

'Not at all. I embroider--'

'All women should,' said Fenwick, trying for a free and careless air.

'I read--'

'You do not need to say it.'

She opened her eyes at this readiness of reply; but still pursued:

'And I have a Chinese pug.'

'And no children?' The words rose to Fenwick's lips, but remained
unspoken. Perhaps she divined them, for she began hastily to describe
her dog--its tricks and fidelities. Fenwick could meet her here; for
a mongrel fox-terrier--taken, a starving waif, out of the streets--had
been his companion since almost the first month of his solitude. Each
stimulated the other, and they fell into those legends of dog-life in
which every dog-lover believes, however sceptical he may be in other
directions. Till presently she said, with a sigh and a stiffening of
her delicate features:

'But mine shows some symptoms of paralysis. He was run over last
summer. I'm afraid it will be long and painful.'

Fenwick replied that she should send for the vet. and have the dog