MR. SYKES, having once tested the hospitality of Hugh Ruthven, that sore and jilted woman-hater, and found it good, made a point of visiting him regularly. Hardly a day passed but Ruthven would hear an inquisitive snort outside his door and when he went to open it, in would come Sykes with his rolling gait, and his expectantly cocked ears.

They became fast friends, to the annoyance of Sykes’ mistress. Once she marched across the strip of passage separating the two flats, and coldly demanded her property from Ruthven’s man-servant. She was asked to come inside, and very reluctantly she did so.

Ruthven came to her, Sykes at his heels, and the sight of her dog placidly following him, infuriated Katharine. Her dark eyes flashed, and her lips grew hard.

“I must really ask you not to entice my dog to visit you!” she said sharply.

Ruthven raised his eyebrows slightly. He bent to pat Mr. Sykes.

“You are labouring under a delusion, Miss—?”

“My name doesn’t matter. Come, Sykes!”

“Not in the slightest,” drawled Ruthven. “As I was saying, you are mistaken. I have never—er—enticed your dog. He seems to like my company.”

“Then may I ask that you will not admit him again?”

Ruthven smiled a little mockingly.

“Certainly you may.”

Katharine’s colour rose. “I don’t know how you managed to bribe him,” she said bitingly, “but I beg you will discontinue your efforts. I do not allow him to stray away to other people’s flats. I very much object to it.”

Ruthven looked her over, still faintly smiling.

“One would almost imagine that you had some grudge against me,” he remarked languidly.

Katharine drew herself up.

“I know nothing about you except that you persist in encouraging my dog to come into your flat, but I dislike the whole of your sex.” She could have bitten her tongue out as soon as the foolish words had left her mouth.

Ruthven’s eyes widened.

“How very interesting,” he replied. “I, myself, abominate the female of the species. Now we understand one another. I am glad you called today, as I have been wishing to see you. I should like to buy your dog.”

Katharine swept to the door.

“He is not for sale,” she said stiffly. “Sykes!”

Ruthven bowed her out. He shut the door and addressed himself sardonically.

“There you have the worst type of woman,” he informed himself. “A spitfire. I wonder who the man was?”

“Don’t you go over there again!” Katharine adjured Mr. Sykes. “He’s a perfectly hateful creature. How dared he smile at me like that?”

Mr. Sykes snuffled aggrievedly.

“He may be handsome,” said Katharine severely, “but he’s a Beast!”

Mr. Sykes waddled away. There were times when he found his mistress a trifle wearisome.

MISS TESTRAM and Mr. Ruthven lost no time in finding out each other’s names. Whenever they chanced to meet, either in the lift or upon the stairs, they cut one another dead. Only Mr. Sykes continued to gravitate between them. There was that in Mr. Ruthven that appealed to him. And Ruthven continued to admit Mr. Sykes into his flat.