audacious than I (and I began to think something of myself in that
role), Michael could not believe that. And, if he didn't, how he must
have loathed paying me deference, and hearing my "Michael" and my
"Flavia!"

"Your hand is hurt, sire," he observed, with concern.

"Yes, I was playing a game with a mongrel dog" (I meant to stir him),
"and you know, brother, such have uncertain tempers."

He smiled sourly, and his dark eyes rested on me for a moment.

"But is there no danger from the bite?" cried Flavia anxiously.

"None from this," said I. "If I gave him a chance to bite deeper, it
would be different, cousin."

"But surely he has been destroyed?" said she.

"Not yet. We're waiting to see if his bite is harmful."

"And if it is?" asked Michael, with his sour smile.

"He'll be knocked on the head, brother," said I.

"You won't play with him any more?" urged Flavia.

"Perhaps I shall."

"He might bite again."