a while he wrote and asked if I would mind it being let to a foreigner? I told him he might let it to a devil so long as he did not worry me."
Lord Castleton paused awhile, and asked the next question in a hesitating way. He felt embarrassed, and showed it:
"Tell me one thing more, old fellow—if—if you don't mind."
"My dear Castleton, I'll tell you anything you like."
"How did you sign the letter?" Onslow's face looked sad as he answered:
"I signed it by another old pet name we both understood. We had pet names—people always have when they are first married," he added with embarrassment.
"Of course," murmured the sympathetic Castleton.
"One such name lasted a long time. An old friend of my father's came to see us, and in a playful moment he said I was a 'sad dog.' Fenella took it up and used to call me 'Doggie,' and I often signed myself 'Frank Doggie'— as men usually do."
"Of course," again murmured Castleton, as if such a signature was a customary thing. Then he added, "And on this occasion?"
"On this occasion I used the name that seemed full of happiest memories. 'Frank Doggie' may
