The fox-terrier, who was lying on the hearth-rug, gave a lazy tail-wag at hearing his name mentioned, and blinked sleepily. “If fatness is any criterion, George has got a very comfortable job of it as dog to this establishment,” said Fairfax. “He seems to drop into altered circumstances as philosophically as his master does.” “I wonder what Mrs. Shelf is doing now,” said the young wife, dreamily. “I wonder if she is alive anywhere. She could not have disappeared more completely. She was seen on the night of that memorable ball; and the next morning she was not; and no one seems to have got a word of her since. I do wonder what has happened to her.” “That,” said Fairfax, “is the other piece of news I have for you, and though you may like her fate, it isn’t to my taste at all. The lady is not only very much alive, but she is practising her old game with the most brilliant success in Paraguay. She is now Donna Laura Anaquel (which is ‘Shelf’ in a Spanish garb), a grass widow, and the leader of State society in Asuncion. The reigning President is a widower, and the Bishop of Asuncion has offered to grant Donna Laura a divorce on the ground of desertion. It is a polite piece of attention, and according to accounts she could certainly be Mrs. President if she liked; but she has refused to cut herself adrift from the excellent Theodore; and at the pace she is going will probably get herself elected Dictatoress of the Republic at the next election or revolution, or whatever it may be, through sheer weight of influence and popularity. She is really a most astounding woman.” “She’s as clever as paint, if that is what you mean. But why Paraguay? and what’s she doing it on? That sort of amusement costs money.” “Of course she has money at her command. Previous reputation counts nothing, either one way or the other, in that blissful republic. But with money and wit you can do mostly anything you want. As usual, she has to thank Mr. Theodore Shelf for the sinews of war. He, bless his heart, foresaw his crash in this country for two whole years before it came to pass, and bought a fine _estançia_ near Asuncion, and transmitted shareholders’ money to banks in that city to run it on. She’s got hold of the lot, and as England has no extradition treaty with the rogues out there, she’s making it hum. That woman’s a lot too clever for my liking, Amy; but I’ve one solid hope for her. Either she may meddle with politics too much and get shot, or else she may work out human justice by spending up all the stolen hoard, and leave that old rascal Shelf nothing to fall back on when he gets out of Portland on his ticket-of-leave.”