He stood still, looking towards that part of the house which had been Deeming’s. “By Jove!” he said, as if speaking to himself. Then, suddenly conscious that he was not alone, he exclaimed— “Pray forgive me, Luttrell, but the fact is I—well, I don’t know why, but that dog has made a very disagreeable impression on me, very disagreeable. D’you know, when he sprang upon me just now I felt a sensation—by Jove, it was a sensation of horror, of abject horror.” He walked on slowly. “I noticed you were looking very pale in the hall,” I said. “Pale? I should think so! The whole business—I say, what did you think of it, eh?” “How do you mean?” I asked evasively. “What d’you think of the dog?” “Poor beast! It seemed very nervous.” “Nervous! It was half-mad with terror. I never saw a dog in such a state before. And Vernon such a lover of animals, too! That’s the strange part of it.” “You think it was Vernon it was afraid of?” “To be sure. Didn’t you see it spring upon me for protection, and directly he approached it shrank away like a thing demented? Now, I’ve been with animals all my life—brought up among ’em—and never before have I seen an animal’s instinct betray it. Animals know in a second the men that are fond of ’em and the men who hate ’em. But this dog’s all at sea. It thinks Vernon’s a regular devil—a dog-torturer. It’s half-crazed with fear of him. That is as plain as a pikestaff. The thing’s unnatural, Luttrell—it’s d⸺d unnatural!” He spoke with a vehemence that showed how greatly his nerves were upset. I could not contradict, because I absolutely agreed with him. “That dog,” he added, “gives me the shudders.” “Poor wretch!” I said. “You pity him too?” he asked. “Yes. But when he gets to know Vernon it will be all right. Vernon has a positive passion for animals.” I strove to speak with conviction, for I was trying to convince myself. “I know he has. And yet⸺” He hesitated. “What, Lord Elyn.” “Well, didn’t it strike you that he looked at the dog very queerly?” “Queerly?” “Yes, not as if he had a great fancy for it.” I said nothing. “What made him buy it?” said Lord Elyn. “I’ve no idea” I answered. And indeed at that moment I was wondering, wondering almost passionately. “I’ll swear he doesn’t like the dog,” said Lord Elyn, still with vehemence. “He may be as fond of animals as you like, but he isn’t fond of this one.” “If he hadn’t taken a liking to it why should he buy it?” “That’s more than I can say. It’s a queer business. I had an idea that—that you perhaps, had some inkling what was up.” And again his look questioned me. “I haven’t indeed,” I said. And I spoke the truth. I was in the dark, in blackness. A hansom passed us slowly at this moment. Lord Elyn hailed it. “I must get home,” he said. “I’m dining out. Shall I give you a lift?” “No, thank you. I’ll walk. I like the exercise.” “Good-bye, then.” He stepped into the cab and drove off, while I walked slowly back to Albemarle Street.