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“Unless, what?” I asked. “Lilian–Miss Roseblade, something has come between us lately; you will tell me what that something is, won’t you?”

“Do you want to know really?” she said, looking up at me through her tears. “Then I’ll tell you; it–it’s Bingo!”

I started back overwhelmed. Did she know all? If not, how much did she suspect? I must find out that at once. “What about Bingo?” I managed to pronounce, with a dry tongue.

“You never l-loved him when he was here,” she sobbed; “you know you didn’t!”

I was relieved to find it was no worse than this.

“No,” I said, candidly; “I did not love Bingo. Bingo didn’t love me, Lilian; he was always looking out for a chance of nipping me somewhere. Surely you won’t quarrel with me for that!”

“Not for that,” she said; “only, why do you pretend to be so fond of him now, and so anxious to get him back again? Uncle John believes you, but I don’t. I can see quite well that you wouldn’t be glad to find him. You could find him easily if you wanted to!”

“What do you mean, Lilian?” I said, hoarsely. “How could I find him?” Again I feared the worst.

“You’re in a government office,” cried Lilian, “and if you only chose, you could easily g-get g-government to find Bingo! What’s the use of government if it can’t do that? Mr. Travers would have found him long ago if I’d asked him!”

Lilian had never been so childishly unreasonable as this before, and yet I loved her more madly than ever; but I did not like this allusion to Travers, a rising barrister, who lived with his sister in a pretty cottage near the station, and had shown symptoms of being attracted by Lilian.

He was away on circuit just then, luckily; but, at least, even he would have found it a hard task to find Bingo–there was comfort in that.

“You know that isn’t just, Lilian,” I observed; “but only tell me what you want me to do.”

“Bub-bub-bring back Bingo!” she said.

“Bring back Bingo!” I cried, in horror. “But suppose I can’t–suppose he’s out of the country, or–dead, what then Lilian?”

“I can’t help it,” she said, “but I don’t believe he is out of the country or dead. And while I see you pretending to uncle that you cared awfully about him, and going on doing nothing at all, it makes me think you’re not quite–quite sincere! And I couldn’t possibly marry any one while I thought that of him. And I shall always have that feeling unless you find Bingo!”

It was of no use to argue with her; I knew Lilian by that time. With her pretty, caressing manner she united a latent obstinacy which it was hopeless to attempt to shake. I feared, too, that she was not quite certain as yet whether she cared for me or not, and that this condition of hers was an expedient to gain time.

I left her with a heavy heart. Unless I proved my worth by bringing back Bingo within a very short time, Travers would probably have everything his own way. And Bingo was dead!

However, I took heart. I thought that perhaps if I could succeed by my earnest efforts in persuading Lilian that I really was doing all in my power to recover the poodle, she might relent in time, and dispense with his actual production.

So, partly with this object, and partly to appease the remorse which now revived and stung me deeper than before, I undertook long and weary pilgrimages after office hours. I spent many pounds in advertisements; I interviewed dogs of every size, colour, and breed, and of course I took care to keep Lilian informed of each successive failure. But still her heart was not touched; she was firm. If I went on like that, she told me, I was certain to find Bingo one day; then, but not before, would her doubts be set at rest.