"Why, Win!" exclaimed Murtagh, roused by the sudden apparition to a more energetic display of interest, "where did he come from? Did papa get him for you?"
Winnie did what Murtagh never expected to see her do when anything touched, however remotely, upon Royal,—began to laugh.
"No," she said. "Guess who did."
"I don't know," replied Murtagh.
"No, and you never would guess if you tried till Doomsday, so I may as well tell you. Old Plunkett! And, Murtagh," she added, with a sudden change of manner, "he was really sorry. He told me all about it, how it was because he was so very angry. And I thought about you getting in such rages, and—" Winnie paused as though she were fighting out again the struggle to accept the dog.
"What's his name?" asked Murtagh.
"Jim," replied Winnie. "I thought I ought to call him after him, you know; but I really couldn't call him 'James dear.' And besides," she added, dropping her voice, "I didn't want it to be a bit like—" She stopped short and her eyes filled with tears.
At that moment steps were heard advancing along the passage; Winnie dashed the tears out of her eyes, and as she glanced up at Murtagh she saw by the faint flush upon his cheek that he guessed who was coming.
"Are you going to say anything to him about—"
Murtagh nodded.