"I think not."

The girl smiled suddenly, all by herself. "It was my dog that--upset you
on Main Street this afternoon. You may remember ...? I thought you
seemed to--to limp a little when you came in just now. I'm awfully
sorry for the--mishap--"

"It is of no consequence," he said, with some signs of unrest. "I walk
seldom. Your--pleasure-dog was uninjured, I trust?"

"Thank you. He was never better."

That the appearance of the pleasure-dog's owner as a familiar of his
boarding-house piqued his curiosity not the slightest was only too
evident. He bowed, his eyes returning from steak to book.

"I am obliged to you for getting my supper."

If he had said, "Will you kindly go?" his meaning could hardly have been
more unmistakable. However, Mrs. Paynter's resolute agent held her
ground. Taking advantage of his gross absorption, she now looked the
delinquent boarder over with some care. At first glance Mr. Queed looked
as if he might have been born in a library, where he had unaspiringly
settled down. To support this impression there were his pallid
complexion and enormous round spectacles; his dusty air of premature
age; his general effect of dried-up detachment from his environment. One
noted, too, the tousled mass of nondescript hair, which he wore about a
month too long; the necktie-band triumphing over the collar in the back;
the collar itself, which had a kind of celluloid look and shone with a