t the eyes to search in the bottom of a teacup.

"I fancied we were not wholly that; I told Aunt Meda about our escapade
six years ago; surely, that affair ought to establish a common ground
for our continued acquaintance. But, if that's not sufficient, I can
find another nearer at hand--where's my dog?"

This brought her to terms.

"Oh, I can't do anything with Rag, Mr. Googe; I'm so sorry. He's over in
the coach house this very minute, and Tave was going to take him home
to-night. Just think! That seven-year-old dog has to be carried home,
old as he is!"

"If it's come to that, I'll take him home under my arm to-night--that
is, if he won't follow; I'll try that first."

"But you're not going to punish him!--and simply because he likes me.
That wouldn't be fair!"

She made her protest indignantly. Champney looked at his aunt with an
amused smile. She nodded understandingly.

"Oh, no; not simply because he likes you, but because he is untrue to
me, his master."

"But that isn't fair!" she exclaimed again, her cheeks flushing rose
red; "you've been away so long that the dog has forgotten."

"Oh, no, he hasn't; or if he has I must jog his memory. He's Irish, and
the supreme characteristic of that breed is fidelity."

"Well, so am I Irish," she retorted pouting; she began to make him a
second cup of tea by twirling the silver tea-ball in the shallow cup
until the hot water flew over the edge; "but I shouldn't consider it
necessary to be faithful to any one who had forgotten and left me for
six years."

"You wouldn't?" Champney's eyes challenged hers, but either she did not
understand their message or she was too much in earnest to heed it.

"No I wouldn't; what for? I like Rag and he likes me, and we have been
faithful to each other; it would be downright hypocrisy on his part to
like you after all these years."

"How about you?" Champney grew bold because he knew his aunt was
enjoying the girl's entanglement as much as he was. She was amused at
his daring and Aileen's earnestness. "Didn't you tell me in Tave's
presence only just now that you couldn't forget me? How is that for
fidelity? And why excuse Rag on account of a six years' absence?"

"Well, of course, he's your dog," she said loftily, so evading the
question and ignoring the laugh at her expense.

"Yes, he's my dog if he is a backslider, and that settles it." He turned
to his aunt. "I'll run in again to-morrow, Aunt Meda, I mustn't wear my
welc