'I'm very sorry,' I said. 'No, I am sure you would never do such a thing, Den.'
Then I got up, very carefully, not to disturb my poor doggie, who was really asleep by this time, and we all—Mr. Trevor and the three boys and I—went to the group in the porch, whose anxiety was already relieved by seeing us more tranquil again. Taisy had been dying to rush out to us, but Esmé, sobbing in her arms, was not easily disposed of.
She—Esmé—had begun an incoherent confession of her misdoings, but now mamma stopped it.
'Is it all right?' she asked eagerly, speaking to Mr. Trevor. 'The dog is not mad then? What was it?'
Mr. Trevor glanced, still a little doubtfully, at Roughie in my arms.
'I—yes, I think he is all right again,' he replied. 'He certainly recognised his mistress's voice, which is the best sign. I do not think it was any kind of fit; it was just terror. He must be a nervous little creature.'
'Yes,' said Rolf; 'he is awfully nervous, though he is not cowardly.'
'A fine distinction, as applied to a dog,' said Mr. Trevor smiling. 'But if—you all knew it, how——'
A howl—really it was a howl—from Esmé interrupted him.