But Nip (whose play was death to other dogs) stiffened his spine, and threw back his head; he evidently considered public endearments inconsistent with personal dignity. He weighed fully twenty-four pounds, and why Mrs. Creery carried an animal who had the excellent use of his four legs, was best known to herself.
As she proceeded up the pier, with his head hanging over her shoulder, he surveyed Dr. Malone and Lisle, who walked behind him, with unconcealed contempt.
"What a fool she makes of herself about that beast!" muttered the former. "He despises us for not being carried too. I see it in his eye! Brute! I'd like to vivisect him."
"Only imagine!" exclaimed Miss Caggett suddenly, "Miss Denis has never been to a dance in her life!—and," giggling affectedly, "never danced with any but girls."
"And remember," said Jim Quentin, impressively turning and speaking to Helen in a tender undertone (for the benefit of his friend), "that you have given me the promise of the first waltz."
The party had now reached a little square, from whence their various paths diverged.
"You wait for me on the pier like a good fellow," he said to his companion. "I am just going to walk home with Miss Denis."
Every one now departed in different directions, excepting Mrs. Creery, who remained behind at the cross-roads, for a moment, and waving her green umbrella, called after them authoritatively,—
"Now mind that none of you are late this evening!—especially you men!"