“You are highly favoured,” remarked the lady; “Joss, although a nobody himself, is most particular as to who he knows. He means to know you.”
“I’m glad of that—I like dogs. What breed is he?”
“That is a question we are so often asked. His mother is a prize poodle, his father a small black spaniel. We have never quite decided what we shall bring him up as, sometimes we think we’ll clip him and pass him off as a poodle.”
“Oh, he is much more of a spaniel—look at his ears and tail,” objected the new chauffeur. “Of course he is a bit too leggy.”
“Yes; I’m afraid poor Joss’s appearance is against him, but his heart is in the right place.”
“Dogs’ hearts always are.”
“Joss is so sporting, if he only had a chance,” continued Miss Susan. “He swims like a fish and is crazy after water-fowl—that is the spaniel side. The poodle blood makes him clever, sly, inquisitive, and as mischievous as a monkey.”
“Is he your dog, miss?”
“No, he belongs to my sister, though she does not care for animals; but she says a dog about the place makes a topic of conversation for callers. We country folk are often hard up; the weather and gardens are our chief subjects. Joss is a capital watch—though I hate to see him chained here day after day. I believe a young dog requires liberty—yes, and amusement—as much as a human being.” She glanced at Owen. “You will think me silly!”
“No, miss, I’m entirely of your opinion.”