big ugly heavy foot an his poor soft
silky--mum--mum--back, he didn't, and he soodn't that he--mum--mum
--soodn't; and he cried out and knew the place to come to, and was oh so
sorry for what had happened to him--mum--mum--mum--and now he was going to
be made happy, his mistress make him happy--mum--mum--mum--moo-o-o-o."

"Yes!" said Richard, savagely, from the other end of the room, "you care
for the happiness of your dog."

"A course se does," Mumpsy was simperingly assured in the thick of his
silky flanks.

Richard looked for his hat. Mumpsy was deposited on the sofa in a
twinkling.

"Now," said the lady, "you must come and beg Mumpsy's pardon, whether you
meant to do it or no, because little doggies can't tell that--how should
they? And there's poor Mumpsy thinking you're a great terrible rival that
tries to squash him all flat to nothing, on purpose, pretending you
didn't see; and he's trembling, poor dear wee pet! And I may love my dog,
sir, if I like; and I do; and I won't have him ill-treated, for he's
never been jealous of you, and he is a darling, ten times truer than men,
and I love him fifty times better. So come to him with me."

First a smile changed Richard's face; then laughing a melancholy laugh,
he surrendered to her humour, and went through the form of begging
Mumpsy's pardon.

"The dear dog! I do believe he saw we were getting dull," said she.

"And immolated himself intentionally? Noble animal!"

"Well, we'll act as if we thought so. Let us be gay, Richard, and not
part like ancient fogies. Where's your fun? You can rattle; why don't
you? You haven't seen me in one of my characters--not Sir Julius: wait a
couple of minutes." She ran out.

A white visage reappeared behind a spring of flame. Her black hair was
scattered over her shoulders and fell half across her brows. She moved
slowly, and came up to him, fastening weird eyes on him, pointing a
finger at the region of witches. Sepulchral cadences accompanied the
representation. He did not listen, for he was thinking what a deadly
charming and exquisitely horrid witch she was. Something in the way her
underlids worked seemed to remind him of a forgotten picture; but a veil
hung on the picture. There could be no analogy, for this was beautiful
and devilish, and that, if he remembered rightly, had the beauty of
seraphs.

His reflections and her performance were stayed by a shriek. The spirits
of wine had run over the plate she held to the f