Meanwhile at "The Limes" Mr. Hartley Friend was pacing the room with
impatient steps.
"I do wish you would try to be less impulsive," he was saying to his
wife. "Anything in the nature of business you would be so much wiser to
leave to me."
"What is it now?" Mrs. Friend asked with perfect placidity.
"This dog," said her husband, "that fastened itself on you in this
deplorable way--whatever possessed you to rush into print about it?"
"Of course I rushed, as you say. Think of the feelings of the poor
woman who has lost her pet. It was the only kind thing to do."
"'Poor woman' indeed! I assure you she's nothing of the sort. One would
think you were a millionaire to be ladling out benefactions like this.
'No reward required.' Fancy not even asking for the price of the
advertisement to be refunded!"
"But that would have been so squalid."
"'Squalid!' I've no patience with you. Justice isn't squalor. It's--it's
justice. As for your 'poor woman,' listen to this." And he read out the
Bathurst advertisement with terrible emphasis on the words "Handsome
reward offered." "Do you hear that--'handsome'?"
"Yes, I hear," said his wife amiably; "but that isn't my idea of making
money."
"I hope you don't suppose it's mine," said her husband. "But there is
such a thing as common sense. Why on earth the accident of this little
brute following us home should run us into the expense of an
advertisement and a certain amount of food and drink I'm hanged if I can
see."
"Well, dear," said his wife with the same amiability, "if you can't see
it I can't make you."