“The first wag I have seen in twenty-four hours,” remarked Lady Ingleby; but neither Deryck Brand nor Shockheaded Peter heeded the remark.
The anxious eyes of the dog were gazing, with an agony of question, into the kind keen eyes of the man.
Without moving, the doctor spoke.
“Yes, little Peter,” he said.
Peter’s small tufted tail ceased thumping. He sat very still for a moment; then quietly moved back to the middle of the chair, turned round and round three or four times; then lay down, dropping his head between his paws with one long shuddering sigh, like a little child which has sobbed itself to sleep.
The doctor turned, and looked at Lady Ingleby.
“What does that mean?” queried Myra, astonished.
“Little Peter asked a question,” replied Sir Deryck, gravely; “and I answered it.”
“Wonderful! Will you talk this telepathy over with Michael when he comes home? It would interest him.”