“Couldn’t you take His Highness?”
“No—that is, I could, but—I can’t explain—he would distract me.”
“Shall I take him back, then?”
“Why?” she demanded, surprised.
“I—only I thought if you did not care for him—” he stammered. “You see, I love the dog.”
She bit her lip and bent her eyes on the ground. Again he quickened his pace to keep step with her.
“You see,” he said, searching about for the right phrase, “I wanted you to have something that I could venture to offer you—er—something not valuable—er—I mean not—er—”
“Your dog is a very valuable champion; everybody knows that,” she said, carelessly.
“Oh yes—he’s a corker in his line; out of Empress by Ameer, you know—”
“I might manage … to keep him … for a while,” she observed, without enthusiasm. “At all events, I shall tie my violets to his collar.”