“Is it you, Pete?” she asked; and then he said in a low tone, almost in a whisper, as if speaking to himself in a hush of awe—
“It's her own voice again! I've heard it in my drames these five years.”
He looked helplessly about him for a moment, fixed his watery eyes on Nancy as if he wanted to burst into sobs but dare not for fear of the noise, then turned on his chair and seemed on the point of taking to flight. But just at that instant his dog, which had followed him into the room, planted its forelegs on the counterpane and looked impudently into Kate's face.
“Down, Dempster, down!” cried Pete; and after that, the ice being broken by the sound of his voice, Pete was his own man once more.
“Is that your dog, Pete?” said Kate.
“Aw, no, Kate, but I'm his man,” said Pete. “He does what he likes with me, anyway. Caught me out in Kimber-ley and fetched me home.”
“Is he old?”
“Old, d'ye say? He's one of the lost ten tribes of dogs, and behaves as if he'd got to inherit the earth.”
She felt Pete's big black eyes shining on her.
“My gracious, Kitty, what a woman you're growing, though!” he said.