couldn't think of it! I might indeed have saved my
breath, I knew it was one of the Fynes' rules of life, part of their
solemnity and responsibility, one of those things that were part of
their unassertive but ever present superiority, that their dog must not
be allowed in. It was most improper to intrude the dog into the houses
of the people they were calling on--if it were only a careless bachelor
in farmhouse lodgings and a personal friend of the dog. It was out of
the question. But they would let him bark one's sanity away outside
one's window. They were strangely consistent in their lack of
imaginative sympathy. I didn't insist but simply led the way back to
the parlour, hoping that no wayfarer would happen along the lane for the
next hour or so to disturb the dog's composure.

Mrs Fyne seated immovable before the table charged with plates, cups,
jugs, a cold teapot, crumbs, and the general litter of the entertainment
turned her head towards us.

"You see, Mr Marlow," she said in an unexpectedly confidential tone:
"they are so utterly unsuited for each other."

At the moment I did not know how to apply this remark. I thought at
first of Fyne and the dog. Then I adjusted it to the matter in hand
which was neither more nor less than an elopement. Yes, by Jove! It
was something very much like an elopement--with certain unusual
characteristics of its own which made it in a sense equivocal. With
amused wonder I remembered that my sagacity was requisitioned in such a
connection. How unexpected! But we never know what tests our gifts may
be put to. Sagacity dictated caution first of all. I believe caution
to be the first duty of sagacity. Fyne sat down as if preparing himself
to witness a joust, I thought.

"Do you think so, Mrs Fyne?" I said sagaciously. "Of course you are
in a position..." I was continuing with caution when she struck out
vivaciously for immediate assent.

"Obviously! dearly! You yourself must admit..."

"But, Mrs Fyne," I remonstrated, "you forget that I don't know your
brother."

This argument which was not only sagacious but true, overwhelmingly
true, unanswerably true, seemed to surprise her.

I wondered why. I did not know enough of her brother for the remotest
guess at what he might be like. I had never set eyes on the man. I
didn't know him so completely that by contrast I seemed to have known
Miss de Barral--whom I had seen twice (altogether about sixty minutes)