“I’m afraid one of my household left the garden gate slightly ajar. When I took Ash—he’s a puppy—out before dawn, he got away from me.”

“Puppies can be such a handful,” Mrs. Kirby said with a commiserative nod.

“Yes. I was quite worried when we couldn’t find him. But we eventually tracked him to your garden, where he apparently made friends with your dog.”

“Bess is very friendly.” Mrs. Kirby called for the housekeeper, who was apparently just outside the drawing room. “Will you fetch Bess, please?”

The housekeeper took herself off quickly.

“Bess is a female, I take it?” Evie asked. “Ash is a male, and my concern is that they may have become very friendly.”

Mr. Kirby exhaled sharply. “I shall hope not or that nothing comes of it. We had planned to breed Bess with another miniature greyhound belonging to a friend of ours.”

“I see.” Evie would also hope nothing came of it. She could see that Mr. Kirby was annoyed by the entire affair. “I am terribly sorry about it.”

“I trust you will ensure your dog doesn’t get out again?”

“He isn’t my dog, and I don’t expect he’ll be staying at my house again.” How that pained Evie. She missed him so. Later today, she would “happen” to encounter Gregory and Ash walking in the park.

The housekeeper brought in Bess, a brown miniature greyhound who was still bigger than Ash, but probably not for too much longer. “Here is our Bessie girl,” Mrs. Kirby said with a smile.

Bess trotted over to her and nuzzled the woman’s outstretched hand, then she sat down, her gaze moving inquisitively to Evie. She was impeccably behaved.

“Aren’t you a pretty girl?” Evie asked. She longed to pet Bess. Apparently, she really liked dogs and had never realized. Or she had but had buried the memories of the street dogs she’d cared for in her youth.

“Go on.” Mrs. Kirby pet Bess and give her a nudge.

Bess walked over to Evie, who removed her glove. Extending her hand to the dog, she let the animal sniff her before trying to stroke her soft, velvety head. “She’s so well trained.”

“Very important in a dog,” Mr. Kirby said. “That’s why she doesn’t get out of our garden, even with the hole in the wall.”

Mrs. Kirby pursed her lips. “It’s because she can’t fit through it.” She looked to Evie. “Your dog must be very small.”

“My friend’s dog, Ash, is still a puppy.” Evie wanted them to know he wasn’t her dog. “He’s a white terrier. I imagine he will soon be too big to fit through that hole. However, he won’t have the chance to try.”

“I think I saw your dog the other day—sometime last week,” Mr. Kirby mused. “He was with a tall gentleman. That must be your friend?”