“Everyone was at our party, except you and Our Flora. In fact, it was the success of the season. The Major told us that Our Flora was expecting a litter. No, I don't mean that, though she looks so like an Ultima herself that I almost might.”
“Ullapool,” said Miss Patterdale. “I ran into Flora on the common, and she told me.”
“Ullapool!” exclaimed Charles reverently. “That's a new one on me, and it has my unqualified approval.”
“It isn't as good as Ultima Uplift,” objected Abby. “That's my favourite, easily!”
“What, more than Umbrella?” said Charles incredulously.
This, naturally, led to a lively discussion on the respective merits of all the more absurd names which Mrs. Midgeholme had bestowed on her Pekes. Miss Patterdale, entering into the argument, said in her incisive way: “You're both wrong. Ultima Urf was the best.”
“Ultima What?” demanded both her hearers.
“Urf. It was the runt of the litter, you see. It died.”
“Angel, I don't see!” complained Abby.
“It means a stunted child,” explained Miss Patterdale. “Not bad, really, except that one would feel such a fool, shouting Urf, Urf, Urf, in the street. At least, I should. Not that I've any right to poke fun at Flora. Anything more unsuitable for a couple of goats than Rosalind and Celia I've yet to discover. I must have been out of my mind. Celia got loose this afternoon, and strayed. That's how I met Flora. She was giving some of her dogs a run on the common.”