128 The Real Charlotte. 



" I think I mentioned to you, Miss Dysart, that I have to 

 go to Dublin next week for three or four days ; teeth, you 

 know, teeth — not that I suppose you have any experience of 

 such miseries yet ! " 



Pamela did not remember, nor, beyond a sympathetic 

 smile, did she at first respond. Her attention had been 

 attracted by the dripping, deplorable countenance of Max, 

 which was pleading to her round the corner of the church 

 door for that sanctuary which he well knew to be eternally 

 denied to him. There had been a time in Max's youth 

 when he had gone regularly with Pamela to afternoon ser- 

 vice, lying in a corner of the gallery in discreet slumber. 

 But as he emerged from puppydom he had developed habits 

 of snoring and scratching which had betrayed his presence 

 to Mrs. Gascogne, and the climax had come one Sunday 

 morning when, in defiance of every regulation, he had flung 

 himself from the drawing-room window at Bruff, and followed 

 the carriage to the church, at such speed as his crooked legs 

 could compass. Finding the gallery door shut, he had made 

 his way nervously up the aisle until, when nearing the 

 chancel steps, he was so overcome with terror at the sight 

 of the surpliced figure of the Archdeacon sternly fulminating 

 the Commandments, that he had burst out into a loud fit of 

 hysterical barking. Pamela and the culprit had made an 

 abject visit to the Rectory next day, but the sentence of ex- 

 communication went forth, and Max's religious exercises 

 were thenceforth limited to the churchyard. But on this 

 unfriendly afternoon the sight of his long melancholy nose, 

 and ears dripping with rain, was too much for even Pamela's 

 rectitude. 



" Oh, yes, teeth are horrible things," she murmured, 

 stealthily patting her waterproof in the manner known to all 

 dogs as a signal of encouragement. 



'* Horrible things ! Upon my word they are ! Beaks, 

 that's what we ought to have instead of them ! I declare I 

 don't know which is the worst, cutting your first set of teeth, 

 or your last ! But that's not what's distressing me most 

 about going to Dublin." 



" Really," said Pamela, who, conscious that Max was now 

 securely hidden behind her petticoats, was able to give her 

 whole attention to Miss Mullen; '* I hope it's nothing serious." 



