“But, my dear Mrs. Cheviot, it seems to me such a comfortable house! And now that my lord is to close up the secret door which, I own, I should not quite like to have open, I cannot see the least cause for you to leave it. And I am sure that if the dear doggie is to stay with us we must be quite safe.”
The intelligent hound, who had sat up at the first mention of his name, flattened his ears and lolled his tongue out gratefully.
“If you knew as much of the dear doggie as I do,” declared Elinor, “you would scarcely stay in the same room with him!” She turned to Carlyon, and added, “Upon being told to guard me, the creature kept me in my chair for the better part of a day!”
“Well, that was quite my fault!” argued Nicky. “He did not perfectly understand what I said to him. And you must own he stayed at his post like a regular bulldog!”
“Yes! And consumed a plate of meat and a large marrowbone, which he buried behind the sofa cushions!”
“Poor old fellow!” said Miss Beccles, in caressing accents.
Bouncer, recognizing a well-wisher, got up and thrust his cold, wet nose under her hand, assuming as he did so the soulful expression of a dog who takes but a benevolent interest in cats, livestock, and stray visitors. Miss Beccles stroked his head and murmured dulcetly to him.
Elinor fixed her eyes upon Carlyon. “My lord, do you expect me to remain here?” she asked straitly.
“Yes, Mrs. Cheviot, I do,” he replied.
“But I may be murdered in my bed!”