"She won't refuse," said the boy, confidently. "She thinks no end of me."
"Unless the puppy might worry Fifine."
"The puppy wouldn't take any notice of that thing—the old dog, I mean. Besides, she lives in her basket, doesn't she? You might keep the puppy in the stables and take him for walks whenever you can. He'll have a beautiful coat like his mother, and if he's half as clever as she is...!"
"He's a lovely thing," said Mary, hugging the puppy, who was licking her face energetically and patting her with tremendous paws.
They visited the paddock next; and Sir Robin, springing on Ajax's back, trotted him up and down for Mary's inspection. He had a good seat in the saddle, and he looked his best on horseback. To be sure, Mary had not discovered that Sir Robin was plain, his mother's plainness militating in him against what share of beauty he might have inherited from his father. There was something so exhilarating to Mary in the afternoon's experience, after its beginning so badly, that she forgot what had gone before. She thought Sir Robin a kind and delightful boy. They saw the Kerries, and afterwards there were the rabbits, and the ferrets, and the guinea-pigs to be visited. Intimacy advanced by leaps and bounds. Before the inspection had concluded she was "Mary" to her new-found friend, although she was too reticent by nature to think of addressing him so familiarly.
They had forgotten the time till half-past five struck from a clock in the stable-yard. At this time they were down by a pond in the shrubbery, where there was an islet with a water-hen's nest and a couple of swans sailing on the water. There was a boat, too, and Sir Robin was just getting it out preparatory to rowing Mary round the pond.
"Oh!" she said, with a little start. "What time is that?"
"Half-past five. I'd no idea it was so late."
"Nor I. I must go back at once. Lady Anne said we should be returning about five. I hope she will not be very angry with me."
Mary had begun to tremble. She always trembled in moments of agitation, as a slender young poplar might shiver in the wind.