“By all means,” said her husband hastily. “Let them both go with Louis.”
Louis was a splendidly trained servant. When Madame talked dog-talk he was convulsed with inward laughter, but he showed no outward trace except by a tremor of the eyelid. But when he got with other chauffeurs—ma foi! You’d die laughing to hear him imitate her—but he liked Mrs. Granton all the time. I found out that later.
After a time, we set out. Madame and Monsieur in front, Louis and dogs behind.
Louis liked me, but he used to pinch Beans slyly. Poor Beanie, he didn’t enjoy that first drive.
I was dying to know some friends of my new family. Fortunately we met one who was walking down the Drive with a collie dog at her heels. Oh! what a keen, intelligent Scottish face he had, and hers was just as keen and intelligent an American face.
My master stopped the car, and his wife called out, “Why, how do you do, Stanna—want to have a spin with us?”
Miss Stanna, all laughing and rosy in her black furs, pointed to her dog. “Sir Walter Scott wouldn’t like that. He’s out for his constitutional.”
“See our new dog?” continued Madame. “He’s absolutely forced himself on us.”
Miss Stanna gave me a sharp glance. I gave her one. She understood dogs too. I got up and stretched my neck toward her.
“Later on, dog,” she said, and she waved her hand toward me, “I’ll be charmed to have a talk with you.” Then she called out, “Good-bye, Clossie and Rudolph; good-bye, dogs,” and she strolled on.