"It is a pure-bred rough-haired Himalayan Dust Spaniel, and they are very rare."
"I hope so."
This ill-timed remark did not seem to help the conversation. The seventh unmarried daughter of not quite a hundred earls—she was the daughter of only three earls really, although for that she cannot accept responsibility—tilted her chin to its most aristocratic angle and displayed considerable reserve of manner.
An eyelash, lengthy and sarcastic, flickered upon her cheek.
"Pure-bred rough-coated Himalayan Dust Spaniel," said the heir to the barony. "Stick him in your muff, or you might lose him."
"You are coming to the concert, aren't you?" said the seventh unmarried daughter in a tone singularly detached and cool.
"No, I'm afraid," said the heir to the barony. "Awfully sorry, Adela, but fact is I've got mixed in the day. Thought it was next Saturday."
"Oh, really."
"So I've promised five little kidlets I'd take 'em to the Pantomime at Drury Lane. You don't mind, Adela, do you?—or I say, would you care to come? You'll find it a deal more amusin' than Paderewski. We've got a box, and there'll be any amount of room. And you won't need a chaperone with five kids and their
