“That,” said Mr Musgrave, “is Martha’s fault. She can’t understand that over-feeding is as injurious as the other extreme. She shows her affection for Diogenes by pandering to his appetite.”
“Martha is a dear,” the girl said warmly. “You are a lucky dog, Diogenes, to have found so kind a home. I hope he is good, that he doesn’t give any trouble. Has he broken anything more?”
“No,” said Mr Musgrave, and smiled at the memories her words recalled. “He behaves excellently. Of late I have accustomed him to the house. I find him companionable, and he dislikes being chained here.”
Peggy looked amazed.
“But I thought you—didn’t allow dogs indoors?” she said.
“I have never had a dog before,” he replied. “I allow Diogenes the run of the house. The concession was made when you went away, because—because he seemed to miss you.”
“You dear?” Peggy said, hugging Diogenes.
It was not very clear whether the term of endearment referred to Mr Musgrave or the dog; but, since it was Diogenes who received the embrace, the verbal caress might have been intended for the man. Peggy stood up, and turned to John Musgrave impulsively.
“What can I say,” she cried, “what can I do to prove how grateful I am?”
“I don’t think any proof of your gratitude is needed,” he replied. “Besides, there is no reason why you should feel grateful. In the first place, it was a small thing to do; and in the second, I have grown attached to the dog, and am glad of his company. My fireside would seem very solitary without him.”