Bubbles had chosen to put on this afternoon a long, rose-red knitted jumper over a yellow skirt, and she looked as if she had stepped out from some ancient Spanish religious procession.

“Bubbles,” called out her aunt, “this is Dr. Panton.  Come and be introduced to him.”

Then something very odd happened.  Varick joined his new guest at the very same moment that the girl came forward with hand outstretched and a polite word of welcome on her lips; but, before she could speak, Span, who had been behaving with so sedate a dignity that the people present were scarcely conscious of his existence, gave a sudden loud and horrible howl.

His master, disregarding Bubbles’ outstretched hand, seized the dog by the collar, rushed with him to the door giving on to the porch, and thrust him out into the cold and darkness.

Span remained quite quiet when on the wrong side of the door.  There might have been no dog there.

“I’m so sorry,” said Panton apologetically, as he came again towards the tea-table.  “I can’t think what’s the matter with the poor brute.  He’s almost perfect manners as a rule.”

He turned to Miss Brabazon, who laughingly exclaimed:  “Yes, indeed!  Span’s such an old friend of mine that I feel quite hurt.  I thought he would be sure to take some notice of me; but I didn’t even know he was there till he set up that awful, unearthly howl.”

“I think it’s very cruel to have turned the dog out into the cold,” Bubbles said in her quick, decided way.  “There’s nothing about dogs I don’t know, Doctor—­Doctor—­”

“—­Panton,” he said shortly.

“Oh, Panton?  May I go out to him, Dr. Panton?” There was a challenge in her tone.

Panton answered stiffly:  “By all means.  But Span’s not always pleasant with complete strangers; and he prefers men, Miss Dunster.”

“I think he’ll be all right with me.”

Bubbles went and opened the door, and a moment later they heard her low, throaty voice talking caressingly to the dog.  Span whined, but in a gentle, happy way.

“He’s quite good now,” she called out triumphantly.

Varick turned to the company:  “Will you forgive me for a moment?” he said.  “I forgot to say a word to my chauffeur about our plans for to-morrow.”  And as he went through one door, Bubbles, followed by the now good and repentant Span, appeared through another.

“He’s a darling,” she cried enthusiastically.  “One of the nicest dogs I’ve ever met!”

She sat down, and endeared herself further to Span by giving him a large piece of cake.

And Dr. Panton, looking at the charming group—­for the lithe, dark-haired girl in her brilliant, quaint garment, and the dog over which she was bending, made a delightful group—­told himself grudgingly that Miss Bubbles was curiously attractive:  far more attractive-looking than he would have thought her to be by the portrait published in the Sketch—­though even that had been sufficiently arresting to remain in his mind for two or three days.  Was there really something Eastern about her appearance?  He would never have thought it but for those few words of Varick’s.  Many English girls have that clear olive complexion, those large, shadowy dark eyes, which yet can light up into daring, fun, and mischief.