Ossian, waking out of his nap and yawning, much bored, began the conversation by laying his muzzle on the lady’s knees.
“Pray forgive him!” said his master.
“There is nothing to forgive. What a beauty he is!”
“He is as good as he looks. But perhaps he ought to apologize for being here.”
“Why?”
“Well, really, I do not know why; but it is expected that a dog’s owner should say so.”
“Only when he writes to the Times,” said the lady, amused. “In point of fact, it is I who am in the wrong place, for this is a smoking-carriage.”
Ossian having thus broken the ice between them they continued to talk, of the weather, of the news of the day, of the book she had brought with her, of dogs in general, and of the collie in particular.
They were neither of them very talkative by temperament, or disposed to be communicative usually, but they got on very well together. He shifted his seat to the corner in front of her, and they continued to skim over a variety of subjects, harmoniously and agreeably to both, as the train glided over the frozen ground, scattering the fine white powder of the snow in front of it.
“How fast it snows!” said the lady rather anxiously, trying to rub the pane of glass nearest her clear with her handkerchief.