She lifted her face to his and kissed him until I could feel thick, hot rage mount inside my throat and force itself out in a deep rumbling growl.
"Look," she said, "he's jealous. Poor Ponto!"
And she kneeled beside me, put her arm around my neck and pressed my head affectionately.
"There!" she said briskly. "You're a good dog. You're my Ponto and I'll take care of you."
Tompkins glowered at me and her.
"Stop driveling over that damn dog," he said, "and come on into the house."
Germaine gave me a farewell pat on the head.
"He's such a good dog," she announced, "and now that he's been properly married he'll settle down, I hope. I've been quite worried over the way he's been acting. But it's all right now, Ponto, isn't it? Was your girl-friend nice, old boy? Huh? Are you happy?"
I tried to explain things but all that came to my lips was a series of whines and growls.
"Come along, Jimmie," Tompkins insisted. "I'm cold. Damn it all! I've had a shock and all you can think of doing is to slobber over a dog. Let him have a run."