" protested Sara, amused. "She is very beautiful and
essentially feminine--rather a wonderful kind of person, I think. Wait
till you see her!"

"I'm afraid," said Trent slowly, "that I shall not see your charming
friend. I have to run up to Town next week on--on business."

"Oh!" Sara's disappointment showed itself in her voice. "Can't you put
it off?"

He halted outside a tobacconist's shop. "Do you mind waiting a moment
while I go in here and get some baccy?"

He disappeared into the shop, and Sara stood gazing idly across the
street, watching a jolly little fox-terrier enjoying a small but meaty
bone he had filched from the floor of a neighbouring butcher's shop.

His placid enjoyment of the stolen feast was short-lived. A minute later
a lean and truculent Irish terrier came swaggering round the corner,
spotted the succulent morsel, and, making one leap, landed fairly on
top of the smaller dog. In an instant pandemonium arose, and the quiet
street re-echoed to the noise of canine combat.

The little fox-terrier put up a plucky fight in defence of his prior
claim to the bone of contention, but soon superior weight began to tell,
and it was evident that the Irishman was getting the better of the fray.
The fox-terrier's owner, very elegantly dressed, watched the battle from
a safe distance, wringing her hands and calling upon all and sundry of
the small crowd which had speedily collected to save her darling from
the lions.

No one, however, seemed disposed to relieve her of this office--for the
Irishman was an ugly-looking customer--when suddenly, like a streak of
light, a slim figure flashed across the road, and flung itself into
the _melee_, whist a vibrating voice broke across the uproar with an
imperative: "Let _go_, you brute!"

It was all over in a moment. Somehow Sara's small, strong hands had
separated the twisting, growling, biting heap of dog into its
component parts of fox and Irish, and she was standing with the little
fox-terrier, panting and bleeding profusely, in her arms, while one
or two of the bystanders--now that all danger was past--drove off the
Irishman.

"Oh! But how _brave_ of you!" The owner of the fox-terrier rustled
forward. "I can't ever thank you sufficiently."

Sara turned to her, her black eyes blazing.

"Is this your dog?" she asked.

"Yes. And I'm sure"--volubly--"he would have been torn to pieces by that
great hulking brute if you hadn't separated them. I should never hav