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 floor. She had the
coolness to put the plate down on the table, while he stamped out the
flame on the carpet. Again she shrieked: she thought she was on fire.
He fell on his knees and clasped her skirts all round, drawing his arms
down them several times.

Still kneeling, he looked up, and asked, "Do you feel safe now?"

She bent her face glaring down till the ends of her hair touched his
cheek.

Said she, "Do you?"

Was she a witch verily? There was sorcery in her breath; sorcery in her
hair: the ends of it stung him like little snakes.

"How do I do it, Dick?" she flung back, laughing.

"Like you do everything, Bella," he said, and took breath.

"There! I won