She was the first to speak with assumed cheerfulness.
“Why, it’s that dog,” she said. “I declare for the moment it quite startled me?”
“Yes,” said Gertrude, with her voice sounding husky and strange, “it was the dog.”
But neither moved to do what was most natural under the circumstances: to go and pat and pacify the poor animal, neither did they discuss the possibility of how it was injured, but stood listening for its next cry, and both started violently as the door was opened and Mrs Denton, white and trembling, hurried into the room.
“Did—did you hear that, Miss Gertrude?” she said in an awe-stricken whisper.
“Do you mean poor Bruno’s howl?”
“Yes, miss,” said the old woman in the same low tone of voice.
“The poor thing is in pain, I suppose.”
“No, miss, it isn’t that,” said Denton slowly. “If he was hurt, he would yelp sharply. He has got something on his mind.”
“Don’t be such a ridiculous old woman, Denton!” cried Mrs Hampton impatiently, to cover her own dread. “Dogs have no minds. They howl sometimes because it’s their nature to.”