"I am; I was discovered recently kissing my saddle-mare."

"That settles it! Sagamore, give the young lady the grip."

Sylvia Landis glanced at the dog, then impulsively shifting the whip to
her left hand, held out the right. And very gravely the Sagamore pup
laid one paw in her dainty white gloved palm.

"You darling!" murmured the girl, resuming her whip.

"I notice," observed Siward, "that you are perfectly qualified for
membership in our association for the promotion of bad manners. In fact
I should suggest you for the presidency--"

"I suppose you think all sorts of things because I gushed over that
dog."

"Of course I do."

"Well you need not," she rejoined, delicate nose up-tilted. "I never
kissed a baby in all my life--and never mean to. Which is probably more
than you can say."

"Yes, its more than I can say.

"That admission elects you president," she concluded. But after a
moment's silent driving she turned partly toward him with mock
seriousness: "Is it not horridly unnatural in me to feel that way about
babies? And about people, too; I simply cannot endure demonstrations. As
for dogs and horses--well, I've admitted how I behave; and, being so