Now there are writers who would think nothing of ending this chapter with a row of dots, _viz_: ... The author of this work, however, while yielding to no one in his admiration of a dexterous use of dots, cannot but think that the increasing use of dots to express the possibilities of love has become a public nuisance, and that the practice should be discouraged by literary-subscribers as dishonest, since what it really comes to is selling a dud to readers just when they are expecting something to happen. There are undoubtedly occasions, as when a writer is plumbing the bestial abysses of illicit love, when a judicious sprinkling of dots must be held to be proper, in the interests of decency and restraint. Yet even then it is to be deplored that the exploitation of dots so readily lends itself to the artfulness of suggestion. And the author of this work, which is written throughout under the government of marital virtue, cannot think that it is his part to hold his pen while he asks himself whether he shall dot or not dot. Has mankind, he asks himself, lived through all these æons of time only to find now that it cannot serve the decencies without the artificial aid of dots? Must, then, our dumb friends be neglected, while we needs must resort to these bloodless dots? For dogs are infinitely superior to dots as a means of describing the indescribable. The writer is, of course, referring particularly to Mr. Tuppy. Poor Mr. Tuppy. “Yap!” said Mr. Tuppy. “Yap, yap, yap, yap!” “What are you doing to Mr. Tuppy?” cried Valerest. “Nothing,” said Valentine. “Only putting him out of the room.” “You’ve kicked him, you beast!” wailed Valerest. “Only once, sweet,” said Valentine; “for luck.” “I hate you!” she cried. “I love you!” he whispered. “Darling!” she sighed. “But remember I have to be out and riding at eight.” “This is no time to talk of dogs and horses!” cried Valentine, and Valerest was so surprised at such blasphemy that--Oh, well, dots. VI As Valentine left the house in Cadogan Gardens Fountain entered the dining-room. Fountain was very old. He had been kept up very late. He was tired. He drooped across the room. “Shall I shut up now, sir?” Mr. Lapwing said: “Yes, do. But just give me a drop of that brandy first, will you?” “Yes, sir. The candles are burning low, sir. Shall I remove the shades?” “Fountain!” “Sir?” “How long have you been with me?” Fountain stared at his master. Very old, Fountain was. “Why, sir, I was with your father! I’ve known you ever since you was born--as you know as well as I do, sir, if I may say so.” “Ah! But did you ever know, Fountain, that I had been married twice? And that my first wife had divorced me?”