"But where is the Dogs' Home, dear?" inquired Stella.
The question was never answered, for at this moment the man ran up the
steps of the fourth villa on the left and slipped a latchkey into the
lock. The door closed behind him with a venomous snap and we were left
alone in the street, guideless and dogless.
A minute later the man appeared at the ground-floor window, accompanied
by a female of commanding appearance. He pointed us out to her. Behind
them we could dimly descry a white tablecloth, a tea cozy and covered
dishes.
The commanding female, after a prolonged and withering glare, plucked a
hairpin from her head and ostentatiously proceeded to skewer together
the starchy white curtains that framed the window. Privacy secured and
the sanctity of the English home thus pointedly vindicated, she and her
husband disappeared into the murky background, where they doubtless sat
down to an excellent high tea. Exhausted and discomfited, we drifted
away.
"I am going home," said Stella in a hollow voice. "And I think," she
added bitterly, "that it might have occurred to you to suggest that the
creature might possibly be going from the Dogs' Home and not to it."