"
She was silent far a moment, then she glanced at him.
"You're fond of dogs?"
"Why, of course," he answered. "Aren't you?"
"Y-es; but I don't think I'd risk pneumonia for one. You were
feverishly hot just now, and that little beast must be stone cold;
you'll get bronchitis or something, Mr. Orme."
"Not I!" he laughed, almost scornfully. "He's pulling round, poor
little beast! Here we are."
He reached for his coat and wrapped the terrier in it, and quite
unconscious of the girl's watchful eyes, held the little black-and-tan
head to his face for a moment.
"All right now?" he murmured. "You've had a narrow squeak for it, old
chappie!" With the dog under his arm, he helped Maude Falconer ashore
and led the way to the hotel.
"Tea," he said to the waiter; "but bring me some brandy and milk
first--and look sharp."
Maude sank on to one of the benches in the beautiful garden in the
centre of the lake and looked straight before her; and Stafford cuddled
the dog up to him and looked impatiently for the waiter, greeting him
when he came with:
"What an infernal time you're been!"
Then he poured a little of the brandy down the dog's throat, and
bending over him repeated the close three or four times; and presently
the mite stirred and moved its head, and opening its eyes looked up
into Stafford's, and weakly putting out its tongue, licked his hand.
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