"Have you been in England very long?"
Chris replied that she was enjoying England for the first time. But she
was not there to answer questions, her _role_ was to ask them. But she
was dealing with a past-master in the art of gleaning information, and
Henson was getting on her nerves. She gave a little cry of pleasure as a
magnificent specimen of a bloodhound came trotting down the terrace and
paused in friendly fashion before her.
"What a lovely dog," she exclaimed. "Do you like dogs, Mr. Henson?"
She looked up beamingly into his face as she spoke; she saw the heavy
features darken and the eyes grow small with anger.
"I loathe them, and they loathe me," Henson growled. "Look at him!"
He pointed to the dog, who showed his teeth with an angry growl. And yet
the great sleek head lay against the girl's knee in perfect confidence.
Henson looked on uneasily and backed a little way. The dog marked his
every movement.
"See how the brute shows his teeth at me," he said.
"Please send him away, Miss Lee. I am certain he is getting ready for
a spring."
Henson's face was white and hot and wet, his lips trembled.
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