She knew I was on guard, so she did not listen for noises but gave herself up to enjoyment.
Well, when she finished, I began to speak hurriedly. At first she would not hear a word of my plan. No, no, she would stay on the Common and die.
“You'll miss your victuals,” I said sharply.
Actually the only way to approach her was through her appetite. I drew glowing pictures of the Denvilles' table. She asked if they had any mice.
“No, no,” I said, “not a mouse.” Then I perceived I had offended her. She said she liked mice and rats better than anything else.
I shuddered, but I kept on with my coaxing. “I'll tell you what you can do,” I said. “You can try it. Keep in my shadow to-night, creep in the front door, come up-stairs, and get under the bed. If you don't like it, to-morrow night I'll get you out again.”
“I'd rather try the yard,” she said very unexpectedly.
I was so pleased that I did not know what to do. She was giving way. She was actually thinking about coming; but there were dogs in the yard, Mona and the spaniel slept there in beautiful kennels.
I paused a minute, and she said sharply, “Be there dogs there?”
Now, just here, I did a dreadful thing. I was so anxious to get her that I told a lie. If I had had time to think about it, I wouldn't have done it. But her question was sprung on me, and before I knew what I was saying my wicked little tongue had just tripped off the words, “No, we have no dogs.”