Claudia smiled. “You mean I begin to know that I don’t know. I think I do realize that my landmarks are shifting.”
“An awfully good sign,” he said cheerfully. “I’m always pulling up mine and planting them again. A constantly uprooted landmark gathers no moss.... Do I smell the smell of muffins? Claudia, this is heaven, indeed, and you are the ministering angel.”
“There isn’t much of an angel about me,” said Claudia, rather jerkily, when the servant had withdrawn. “If I’m growing—I’m growing much nastier. I’m growing so short-tempered and prickly, and——”
She stopped. She had heard a faint, a very faint sound at the door. Paton, whose hearing was as quick as her own, had heard it too.
“Is that my old friend, Billie the Blessed Dachshund?” he asked. “Bless his stumpy legs! May I let him in?”
She nodded, surprised to find that her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. Why, she did not know. What had she been about to confess to him? It was just as well Billie had interrupted.
Billie gave Paton a royal welcome, a most unusual welcome for him. For of all the hands that caressed him, he liked Paton’s next to his adored mistress. Billie would have told you that there are hands and hands. Some are heavy as lead on small dogs’ heads, some are blunt and stupid, some are cold and clammy, and send a shiver down a dog’s spine, and there are hands that are delicate and sensitive, and convey a sense of liking that is most comforting to the canine tribe.
“Verdict—not grown!”
They both laughed heartily, and Billie stood with a smile—it certainly was a smile—and with his tail wagging surveying them both.
“You have preserved your figure admirably, Billie. I’ll proceed to put it in jeopardy with this lump of sugar.... How nice of you, Claudia, to remember no milk in my tea.”