"Dear me ... dear me," shivered Flame. "They're not going to Christmas at all ... evidently! Not a sprig of holly anywhere! Not a ravel of tinsel! Not a jingle bell!... Oh she must have lost a lot of lovers," thrilled Flame. "I can bring her flowers, anyway! My very first Paper White Narcissus! My—."
With a scrape of the foot the Butler made known his return.
"Miss Flora!" he announced.
With a catch of her breath Flame jumped to her feet and turned to greet the biggest, ugliest, most brindled, most wizened Bull Dog she had ever seen in her life.
"Miss Flora!" repeated the old Butler succinctly.
"Miss Flora?" gasped Flame. "Why.... Why, I thought Miss Flora was a Lady! Why—"
"Miss Flora is indeed a very grand lady, Miss!" affirmed the Butler without a flicker of expression. "Of a pedigree so famous ... so distinguished ... so ..." Numerically on his fingers he began to count the distinctions. "Five prizes this year! And three last! Do you mind the chop?" he gloated. "The breadth! The depth!... Did you never hear of alauntes?" he demanded. "Them bull-baiting dogs that was invented by the second Duke of York or thereabouts in the year 1406?"
"Oh my Glory!" thrilled Flame. "Is Miss Flora as old as that?"
"Miss Flora," said the old Butler with some dignity, "is young—hardly two in fact—so young that she seems to me but just weaned."
With her great eyes goggled to a particularly disconcerting sort of scrutiny Miss Flora sprang suddenly forward to investigate the visitor.