of plumage birds, and you are quite indignant with me if I interfere on
behalf of an ill-treated, over-driven animal on the road. And yet you
insist on every one's plans being made subservient to the convenience of
that stupid little morsel of fur and selfishness."

"You are prejudiced against my little Louis," said Lena, with a world of
tender regret in her voice.

"I've never had the chance of being anything else but prejudiced against
him," said Strudwarden; "I know what a jolly responsive companion a
doggie can be, but I've never been allowed to put a finger near Louis.
You say he snaps at any one except you and your maid, and you snatched
him away from old Lady Peterby the other day, when she wanted to pet him,
for fear he would bury his teeth in her. All that I ever see of him is
the top of his unhealthy-looking little nose, peeping out from his basket
or from your muff, and I occasionally hear his wheezy little bark when
you take him for a walk up and down the corridor. You can't expect one
to get extravagantly fond of a dog of that sort. One might as well work
up an affection for the cuckoo in a cuckoo-clock."

"He loves me," said Lena, rising from the table, and bearing the shawl-
swathed Louis in her arms. "He loves only me, and perhaps that is why I
love him so much in return. I don't care what you say against him, I am
not going to be separated from him. If you insist on going to Vienna you
must go alone, as far as I am concerned. I think it would be much more
sensible if you were to come to Brighton with Louis and me, but of course
you must please yourself."

"You must get rid of that dog," said Strudwarden's sister when Lena had
left the room; "it must be helped to some sudden and merciful end. Lena