s a brute of Charlie's, he had the not disagreeable
spectacle of her pressing to her warm and rosy face an animal that
related her caresses, even if loosely and distantly, to a less unworthy
object. Sour and sad, dried up and done with women, a man still has
feelings.

It would be unfair not to add that something better than primeval
jealousy actuated Gerald, at the same time as, no doubt, some tincture
of that. A sort of impersonal delicacy made the idea disagreeable to him
of a dear, nice woman cherishing with the foolish fondness such persons
bestow on their pets the gift of a friend whom she, in taking his
loyalty for granted, overrated, as he thought.

The dog he had selected to present to her belonged to a breed for which
he had respect as well as affection, crediting to Maltese terriers,
besides all the sterling dog virtues, a discretion, a fineness of
feeling, rare enough among humans. That Gerald kept no dog was due to
the fact that he was still under the impression of the illness and death
of his last, Lucile's pet and his mother's, who had been his companion
until a year or two before, a senile, self-controlled little personage
of the Maltese variety.

Having decided to give Mrs. Hawthorne a dog, Gerald had spent some hours
watching the several components of one litter as they disported
themselves in the flagged court of a peasant house, and had fixed upon
one dusty ball of fluff rather than another upon solid indications of
character.

Snowy after strenuous purifications at the hands of Giovanna,
sweet-smelling from the pinch of orris powder rubbed in his fur, and
brave with a cherry ribbon, he was taken from the breast of Gerald's
overcoat and deposited in the hands of Aurora, whose delight expressed
itself in sounds suggestive of an ogreish craving to eat the little
beast, interspersed with endearments of dim import, such as, "Diddums!
Wasums! Tiddledewinkums!" Estelle's did the same. There was no
difference in the affection the two instantly bestowed on this dog.
Aurora remarked later on that Busteretto couldn't be blamed for not
knowing which was his mother.

Sensitively timid, yet bold in his half dozen inches with curiosity of
life and the exuberant gladness of youth, Busteretto could frisk and he
could tremble. He was cowed by the sight of fearful things, beetles and
big dogs, but next moment, with budding valor, would dash to investigate
them. He twinkled when he ran, his bark lifted him off hi