"His points are on the back page," Captain Middleton said proudly, "and there isn't a single one a perfect bull-terrier ought to have that William Bloomsbury hasn't got."

"Is that his name?"

"Yes, but I call him William, only he is of the famous Bloomsbury strain, you know, and one can't help being a bit proud of it."

"But," Jan objected, "if he's so well-bred and perfect, he must be valuable--so why should you want to give him to me?"

"I'll explain," said Captain Middleton. "You see, ever since they've been down at Wren's End, my aunt kept him for me. He's been so happy there, Miss Ross, and grown like anything. We're stationed in St. John's Wood just now, you know, and he'd be certain to be stolen if I took him back there. And now my aunt's coming to London to a flat in Buckingham Gate. Now London's no life for a dog--a young dog, anyway--he'd be miserable. I've been down to Wren's End very often for a few days'

hunting, and I can see he's happy as a king there, and we may be ordered anywhere any day ... and I don't want to sell him ... You see, I know if you take him you'll be good to him ... and he _is_ such a nice beast."

"How do you know I'd be good to him? You know nothing about me."

"Don't I just! Besides, I've seen you, I'm seeing you now this minute ... I don't want to force him on you, only ... a lady living alone in the country ought to have a dog, and if you take William you won't be sorry--I can promise you that. He's got the biggest heart, and he's the nicest beast ... and the most faithful...."

"Are you sure he'll be quite gentle with the children?"

"He's gentle with everybody, and they're well known to be particularly good with children ... you ask anyone who knows about dogs. He was given me when he was three weeks old, and I could put him in my pocket."

Captain Middleton was rather appealing just then, so earnest and big and boyish. His face was broad though lean, the features rather blunt, the eyes set wide apart; clear, trustworthy, light-blue eyes. He looked just what he was--a healthy, happy, prosperous young Englishman without a real care in the world. After all, Jan reflected, there was plenty of room at Wren's End, and it was good for the children to grow up with animals.

"I had thought of an Airedale," she said thoughtfully, "but----"

"They're good dogs, but quarrelsome--fight all the other dogs round about. Now William isn't a fighter unless he's unbearably provoked, then, of course, he fights to kill."

"Oh dear!" sighed Jan, "that's an awful prospect. Think of the trouble with one's neighbours----"

"But I a.s.sure you, it doesn't happen once in a blue moon. I've never known him fight yet."

"I'll tell you what, Captain Middleton; let me keep him for the present, till you know where you're going to be stationed, and then, if you find you can have him, he's there for you to take. I'll do my best for him, but I want you to feel he's still your dog...."

"It's simply no end good of you, Miss Ross. I'd like you to have him though ... May I put it this way? If you don't like him, find him a nuisance or want to get rid of him, you send for me and I'll fetch him away directly. But if you like him, he's your dog. There--may I leave it at that?"

"We'll try to make him happy, but I expect he'll miss you dreadfully....

I know nothing about bull-terriers; do they need any special treatment?"

"Oh dear, no. William's as strong as a young calf. Just a bone occasionally and any sc.r.a.ps there are. There's tons of his biscuits down there ... only two meals a day and no snacks between, and as much exercise as is convenient--though, mind you, they're easy dogs in that way--they don't need you to be racing about all day like some."

The present fate of William Bloomsbury with the lengthy and exalted pedigree being settled, Jan asked politely for her tenants, Colonel and Mrs. Walcote, heard that it had been an excellent and open season, and enjoyed her guest's real enthusiasm about Wren's End.

After a few minutes of general conversation he got up to go. She saw him out and rang up the lift, but no lift came. She rang again and again.

Nothing happened. Evidently something had gone wrong, and she saw people walking upstairs to the flats below. Just as she was explaining the mishap to her guest, the telephone bell sounded loudly and persistently.

"Oh dear!" she cried. "Would you mind very much stopping a young lady with two little children, if you meet them at the bottom of the stairs, and tell her she is on no account to carry up little Fay. It's my friend, Miss Morton; she's out with them, and she's not at all strong; tell her to wait for me. I'll come the minute I've answered this wretched 'phone."

"Don't you worry, Miss Ross, I'll stop 'em and carry up the kiddies myself," Captain Middleton called as he started to run down, and Jan went back to answer the telephone.

He ran fast, for Jan's voice had been anxious and distressed. Five long flights did he descend, and at the bottom he met Meg and the children just arrived to hear the melancholy news from the hall porter.

Meg always wheeled little Fay to and from the gardens in the funny little folding "pram" they had brought from India. The plump baby was a tight fit, but the queer little carriage was light and easily managed.

The big policeman outside the gate often held up the traffic to let Meg and her charges get across the road safely, and she would sail serenely through the avenue of fiercely panting monsters with Tony holding on to her coat, while little Fay waved delightedly to the drivers. That afternoon she was very tired, for it had started to rain, cold, gusty March rain. She had hurried home in dread lest Tony should take cold. It seemed the last straw, somehow, that the lift should have gone wrong.

She left the pram with the porter and was just bracing herself to carry heavy little Fay when this very tall young man came dashing down the staircase, saw them and raised his hat. "Miss Morton? Miss Ross has just entrusted me with a message ... that I'm to carry her niece upstairs,"

and he took little Fay out of Meg's arms.

Meg looked up at him. She had to look up a long way--and he looked down into a very small white face.

The buffeting wind that had given little Fay the loveliest colour, and Tony a very pink nose, only left Meg pallid with fatigue; but she smiled at Captain Middleton, and it was a smile of such radiant happiness as wholly transfigured her face. It came from the exquisite knowledge that Jan had thought of her, had known she would be tired.

To be loved, to be remembered, to be taken care of was to Meg the most wonderful thing in the world. It went to her head like wine.

Therefore did she smile at Captain Middleton in this distracting fashion. It started tremblingly at the corners of her mouth, and then--quite suddenly--her wan little face became dimpled and beseeching and triumphant all at once.

It had no connection whatsoever with Captain Middleton, but how was he to know that?

It fairly bowled him, middle stump, first ball.

No one had ever smiled at him like that before. It turned him hot and cold, and gave him a lump in his throat with the sheer heartrending pathos of it. And he felt an insane desire to lie down and ask this tiny, tired girl to walk upon him if it would give her the smallest satisfaction.

The whole thing pa.s.sed in a flash, but for him it was one of those illuminating beams that discovers a hitherto undreamed-of panorama.

He caught up little Fay, who made no objection, and ran up all five flights about as fast as he had run down. Jan was just coming out of the flat.

"Here's one!" he cried breathlessly, depositing little Fay. "And now I'll go down and give the little chap a ride as well."

He met them half-way up. "Now it's your turn," he said to Tony. "Would you like to come on my back?"

Tony, though taciturn, was not un.o.bservant. "I think," he said solemnly, "Meg's more tired nor me. P'raps you'd better take her."

Meg laughed, and what the rain and wind could not do, Tony managed. Her cheeks grew rosy.

"I'm afraid I should be rather heavy, Tony dear, but it's kind of you to think of it."

She looked up at Captain Middleton and smiled again. What a kind world it was! And really that tall young man was rather a pleasant person. So it fell out that Tony was carried the rest of the way, and he had a longer ride than little Fay; for his steed mounted the staircase soberly, keeping pace with Meg; they even paused to take breath on the landings. And it came about that Captain Middleton went back into the flat with the children, showing no disposition to go away, and Jan could hardly do less than ask him to share the tea she had laid in the dining-room.

There he got a shock, for Meg came to tea in her cap and ap.r.o.n.

Out of doors she wore a long, warm coat that entirely covered the green linen frock, and a little round fur hat. This last was a concession to Jan, who hated the extinguisher. So Meg looked very much like any other girl. A little younger, perhaps, than any young woman of twenty-five has any business to look, but pretty in her queer, compelling way.

That she looked even prettier in her uniform Captain Middleton would have been the first to allow; but he hated it nevertheless. There seemed to him something incongruous and wrong for a girl with a smile like that to be anybody's nursemaid.

To be sure, Miss Ross was a brick, and this queer little servant of hers called her by her Christian name and contradicted her flatly twice in the course of tea. Miss Morton certainly did not seem to be downtrodden ... but she wore a cap and an ap.r.o.n--a very becoming Quakerish cap ...

without any strings ... and--"it's a d----d shame," was the outcome of all Captain Middleton's reflections.

"Would the man never go?" Jan wondered, when after a prolonged and hilarious tea he followed the enraptured children back to the drawing-room and did tricks with the fire-irons.

Meg had departed in order to get things ready for the night, and he hung on in the hope that she would return. Vain hope; there was no sign of her.

He told the children all about William Bloomsbury and exacted promises that they would love him very much. He discussed, with many interruptions from Fay, who wanted all his attention, the entire countryside round about Wren's End; and, at last, as there seemed really no chance of that extraordinary girl's return, he heaved his great length out of his chair and bade his hostess a reluctant farewell several times over.