"Who's Bruce?"
"That's Bruce—his dog."
Frances came running up. "Rose," said she indignantly, "did you bow to that man?"
"He is our neighbour next door," mumbled Rose.
"I know that. So is the wood-carter. But is that a reason why you should bow to him? Do you know who those people are?"
"They are perfectly respectable people, I believe," said Rose, growing restive.
"DRAPERS," said Frances witheringly.
"I shouldn't care if they were chimney-sweeps. They have a beautiful dog, and young Mr Breen is very kind to him, and I—I thanked him for it." "Oh, Deb!"
"Was that necessary, my dear?"
"Perhaps not. But I did."