"Oh, my dear girl!" she wailed, without showing the slightest sign of astonishment at sight of me. "What a mercy you 've turned up, but it 's just like you. Have you seen my Beau anywhere?"
"No," I said, rather stiffly, for I could n't forgive her or her dog for their treatment of my Jack.
"Oh, dear, what shall I do!" she exclaimed. "He hates railway stations. You can't think the awful time we 've had since you left me in the train at Cannes. And now he 's broken his leash, and run away, and I can't speak any French, except to ask for hot water in Italian, and I don't see how I 'm going to find my darling again. They 'll snatch him up, to fling him into some terrible, murderous waggon, and take him to a lethal home, or whatever they call it. For heaven's sake, go and ask everybody where he is—and if you find him you can have anything on earth I 've got, especially my Italian castle which I can't sell. You can come to England with me and Beau, when you 've got him, and I 'll make you happy all the rest of your life. Oh, go—do go. I 'll look after your luggage."
"It's half your own nephew's, Jack Dane's, luggage," said I, breathless and pulsing. "I'm going to England with him, and he 's going to make me happy all the rest of my life, for we mean to be married, in spite of your cruelty which has made him poor, and turned him into a chauffeur. But—here he comes now. And—why, Miss Paget, there 's Beau walking with him, without any leash. Beau must remember him."
"Beau with Jack Dane!" pisped the old lady. "Jack Dane's found Beau? Beau's forgiven him! Then so
