"Oh, she can come in here." She re-entered the breakfast-room, and Isla, in some inward amusement, followed. She felt like a person in a play, but it said something for her courage and determination that, on the second morning of her London life, she should seek such an experience. She closed the door behind her and said good morning to the lady, altogether unconscious that, instead of looking like a suppliant, she had the air of one about to bestow a favour. Her possible employer was a woman of about her own age, with a kind of artificial prettiness which depended a good deal on art for its preservation. She had a pleasant enough manner, however, and was quite civil to her visitor. "You have called?" she said inquiringly, with her head on one side like a bird and her cheek against the glossy coat of one of the spaniels. "I have called in reference to the advertisement in the ’Morning Post,’" said Isla with difficulty, for the reality, instead of being amusing, was distinctly trying. "But I don’t think it will be any use. I am sure I would not be suitable." "Oh, sit down, and let us talk it over now that you are here," said the lady affably. "I am Madame Schultze. Yes--I am English. My husband is a Viennese. He is on the Stock Exchange. He had only just left the house as you entered. Perhaps you saw him?" Isla said she had not seen anybody resembling Mr. Schultze. "I am not strong, and almost immediately I am going off with my husband to Schwalbach. It is very late in the year for Schwalbach, but he has not been able to get away before now. It is about my little darlings! Look at them! Aren’t they sweet loves? This is Koshimo, and this is Sada, and this is Tito, and the little one, who was born here, is Babs. Did you ever see anything so perfectly sweet?" Isla was at a loss what to say. She knew nothing of the cult of pet dogs, or of how enslaved an idle woman can become by them, and she thought the adoration visible in Madame Schultze’s eyes was rather foolish. There were four separate baskets lined with padded wool, with little rugs over them, and other comforts such as many a poor baby lacked. To Isla the creatures looked stolid, overfed, unintelligent, and uninteresting. But she could not say so. "I suppose they are very valuable?" was all she could bring herself to say. "I should say so. Koshimo, as a puppy, cost a hundred and fifty guineas. My Karl gave him to me on the anniversary of our wedding. We can’t take them to Schwalbach with us, and the other person I had to look after them was a wretch. Behind my back she used to pinch Koshimo, and the poor darling’s spirit is quite broken." "Yet you are going to leave them behind in the care of--of the person you engage?" "That is what I thought of doing. I have no alternative. They don’t permit dogs at the Cure Hotel." "Then would she be required to live in the house?"