The world is divided into those who can stop dog-fights and those who
cannot. The young man in grey belonged to the former class. Within a
minute from his entrance on the scene the poodles and the Irish terrier
had vanished; the dog of doubtful breed was moving off up the hill,
yelping, with the dispatch of one who remembers an important
appointment, and Bill, miraculously calmed, was seated in the centre of
the Promenade, licking honourable wounds.
Mr Warden was disposed to effervesce with gratitude. The scene had
shaken him, and there had been moments when he had given his ankles up
for lost.
'Don't mention it,' said the young man. 'I enjoy arbitrating in these
little disputes. Dogs seem to like me and trust my judgement. I
consider myself as a sort of honorary dog.'
'Well, I am bound to say, Mr--?'
'Vince--George Vince.'
'My name is Warden. My daughter.'
Ruth inclined her head, and was conscious of a pair of very penetrating
brown eyes looking eagerly into hers in a manner which she thoroughly
resented. She was not used to the other sex meeting her gaze and
holding it as if confident of a friendly welcome. She made up her mind
in that instant that this was a young man who required suppression.
'I've seen you several times out here since I arrived, Miss Warden,'
said Mr Vince.
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