He turned after a few minutes' inspection, and walked slowly back to where Constance was standing by the open door. A slight constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, ensued for a few minutes, but the puppy dissipated it when he leaped at a butterfly, fell on his nose with a thump, and howled dismally until reassured by his anxious foster-parents, who caught him up and generously passed him to each other, petting him vigourously.
Twice Gray said good-bye to Constance Leslie and started to go on toward his own bungalow, but the puppy invariably began a frantic series of circles embracing them both, and he had to come back to keep the dog from the demoralisation of utter exhaustion.
"You know," he said, "this is going to be awkward. I believe that dog thinks we are mar—thinks we are sister and brother. Don't you?"
She replied with a slight flush on her fair face,[179] that the dog undoubtedly cherished some such idea.
"Take him inside," said Gray firmly. "Then I'll beat it."
So she took the puppy inside and closed the door, with a smiling nod of adieu to Gray. But he had not gone very far when he heard her clear, far call; and, turning, saw her beckon frantically.
Back he came at top speed.
"Oh, dear," she exclaimed. "Oh, dear! He's tearing 'round and 'round the room moaning and whining and barking. I'm very certain he will have fits if you don't speak to him."
Gray opened the door cautiously, and the little dog came out, projected like a bolt from a catapult, fairly flinging his quivering little body into Gray's arms.
The reunion was elaborate and mutually satisfying. Constance furtively touched her brown eyes with a corner of her handkerchief.