Then, for Bruce Cheniston was sufficiently just to acquit Anstice of any share in this untoward situation, he held out his hand with a cold courtesy which plainly betokened no intention of alluding to any former meeting.
"Good evening." Their hands touched, then fell apart. "You are a new-comer to Littlefield, I understand. Like the place?"
"Yes--in moderation," rejoined Anstice with equally frigid courtesy. "The country has its charms--at this season of the year."
"It has charms at all seasons, Dr. Anstice." Iris' light voice challenged him, even while her grey eyes noted the strange expression in his face. "I'm afraid you're not a real country lover if you qualify your affection by picking out a particular season!"
"You remind one of those people who love dogs--'in their proper place.'" Chloe's tone was delicately quizzical. "On inquiry you find their proper place is outside--in some kennel or inclosure as far away from the speaker as it is possible to get!"
"You can't be charged with that particular kind of affection, Chloe." There was an assertive note in Cheniston's voice when he spoke to his sister which was new to her. "You think a dog's proper place is the best armchair or the downiest bed in the house!"
For a second Chloe did not reply; and without waiting Bruce went on speaking.
"By the way, where are your dogs? I've not seen hide or hair of one since I arrived."
Again there was a short, but quite perceptible silence. Then Chloe said tranquilly: "No wonder you haven't seen any dogs, Bruce. There aren't any to see."
"No dogs?" Bruce was frankly astonished. "Why, in the old days you used to declare you couldn't live without them!"
Just for a second a quiver of emotion convulsed Chloe's usually impassive face. Then she laughed, and Anstice thought her laugh almost painful in its artificiality.
"My dear Bruce," she said, "please remember the old days are as dead as--as Queen Anne. When I was young enough and foolish enough to believe in disinterested affection, and in the right of every creature to be happy, I adored dogs--or thought I did. Now I am wiser, and know that life is not all bones and playtime, so to speak. Besides, they always die when one is fond of them, and I quite agree with Kipling that with so much unavoidable discomfort to put up with, it's the height of folly to 'give one's heart to a dog to tear.' In future I yield no fraction of my heart to any living creature--not even a dog."