“Eccentric,” murmured the nephew absently.  “Tell me, Mr. Lavender, do you find your work a great strain?  Does it——­” and he touched the top of his head, covered with moist black hair.

Mr. Lavender sighed.  “At a time like this,” he said, “we must all be prepared to sacrifice our health.  No public man, as you know, can call his head his own for a moment.  I should count myself singularly lacking if I stopped to consider—­er—­such a consideration.”

“Consider—­er—­such a consideration,” repeated the nephew, jotting it down.

“He carries on,” murmured Mr. Lavender, once more identifying himself with the journal, “grappling with the intricacies of this enormous problem; happy in the thought that nothing—­not even reason itself—­is too precious to sacrifice on the altar of his duty to his country.  The public may rest confident in the knowledge that he will so carry on till they carry him out on his shield.”  And aware subconsciously that the interview could go no further than that phrase, Mr. Lavender was silent, gazing up with rather startled eyes.

“I see,” said the nephew; “I am very much obliged to you.  Is your dog safe?” For Blink had begun to growl in a low and uneasy manner.

“The gentlest creature in the world,” replied Lavender, “and the most sociable.  I sometimes think,” he went on in a changed voice, “that we have all gone mad, and that animals alone retain the sweet reasonableness which used to be esteemed a virtue in human society.  Don’t take that down,” he added quickly, “we are all subject to moments of weakness.  It was just an ’obiter dictum’.”

“Make your mind easy,” said the nephew, rising, “it does not serve my purpose.  Just one thing, Mr. Lavender.”

At this moment Blink, whose instinct had long been aware of some sinister purpose in this tall and heavy man, whose trousers did not smell of dogs, seeing him approach too near, bit him gently in the calf.

The nephew started back.  “She’s bitten me!” he said, in a hushed voice.

“My God!” ejaculated Mr. Lavender and falling back again, so stiff was he.  “Is it possible?  There must be some good reason.  Blink!”

Blink wagged her little tail, thrust her nose into his hand, removed it, and growled again.

“She is quite well, I assure you,” Mr. Lavender added hastily, “her nose is icy.”

“She’s bitten me,” repeated the nephew, pulling up his trouser leg.  “There’s no mark, but she distinctly bit me.”

“Treasure!” said Mr. Lavender, endeavouring to interest him in the dog.  “Do you notice how dark the rims of her eyes are, and how clear the whites?  Extraordinarily well bred.  Blink!”

Aware that she was being talked of Blink continued to be torn between the desire to wag her tail and to growl.  Unable to make up her mind, she sighed heavily and fell on her side against her side against her master’s legs.

“Wonderful with sheep, too,” said Mr. Lavender; “at least, she would be if they would let her....  You should see her with them on the Heath.  They simply can’t bear her.”