“Tricksy!” said the clear voice again—“Take back the biscuit and apologise!”
The tiny terrier looked round with an innocently abstracted air, as if in the earnestness of his own thoughts, he had not quite caught the meaning of the sentence.
“Tricksy!” and the voice became more imperative—“Take it back and apologise!”
With a comical expression of resignation to circumstances, ‘Tricksy’ seized the large biscuit, and holding it in his teeth with gingerly care, jumped from his mistress’s knee and trotting briskly up to the St Bernard who was still wagging his tail and smiling as visibly as dogs often can smile, restored his stolen goods with three short yapping barks as much as to say “There! take it!” The St Bernard rose in all his majestic bulk and sniffed at it,—then sniffed his small friend, apparently in dignified doubt as to which was terrier and which was biscuit,—then lying down again, he gave himself up to the pleasure of munching his meal, the while “Tricksy” with wild barks of delight performed a sort of mad war-dance round and round him by way of entertainment. This piece of dog-comedy was still going on, when Lucio turned away from his point of observation at the fence, and going up to the gate, rang the bell. A neat maid-servant answered the summons.
“Is Miss Clare at home?” he asked.
“Yes sir. But I am not sure whether she will receive you,—” the maid replied—“Unless you have an appointment?”
[p 224]
“We have no appointment,”—said Lucio,—“but if you will take these cards,—” here he turned to me—“Geoffrey, give me one of yours!” I complied, somewhat reluctantly. “If you will take these cards”—he resumed—“to Miss Clare, it is just possible she may be kind enough to see us. If not, it will be our loss.”
He spoke so gently and with such an ingratiating manner that I could see the servant was at once prepossessed in his favour.
“Step in, sir, if you please,—” she said smiling and opening the gate. He obeyed with alacrity,—and I, who a moment ago had resolved not to enter the place, found myself passively following him under an archway of sprouting young leaves and early budding jessamine into ‘Lily Cottage’—which was to prove one day, though I knew it not then, the only haven of peace and security I should ever crave for,—and, craving, be unable to win!
The house was much larger than it looked from the outside; the entrance-hall was square and lofty, and panelled with fine old carved oak, and the drawing-room into which we were shown was one of the most picturesque and beautiful apartments I had ever seen. There were flowers everywhere,—books,—rare bits of china,—elegant trifles that only a woman of perfect taste would have the sense to select and appreciate,—on one or two of the side-tables and on the grand piano were autograph-portraits of many of the greatest celebrities in Europe. Lucio strolled about the room, making soft comments.