"My dear Catharine, I shall be delighted if you go either to Mr. Gosford's or to Mr. Bellamy's, but you must consider your wardrobe a little. You will remember that the last time on each occasion a dress was torn in pieces." "But, mother, are not dresses intended to keep thorns from our legs; or, at any rate, isn't that _one_ reason why we wear them?" "Suppose it to be so, my dear, there is no reason why you should plunge about in thorns." Catharine had a provoking way of saving "yes" or "no" when she wished to terminate a controversy. She stated her own opinion, and then, if objection was raised, at least by some people, her father and mother included, she professed agreement by a simple monosyllable, either because she was lazy, or because she saw that there was no chance of further profit in the discussion. It was irritating, because it was always clear she meant nothing. At this instant a servant opened the door, and Alice, a curly brown retriever, squeezed herself in, and made straight for Catharine, putting her head on Catharine's lap. "Catharine, Catharine!" cried her mother, with a little scream, "she's dripping wet. Do pray, my child, think of the carpet." But Catharine put her lips to Alice's face and kissed it deliberately, giving her a piece of cake. "Mr. Gosford, my poor bitch has puppies--three of them--all as true as their mother, for we know the father." "Ah!" replied Gosford, "you're lucky, then, Miss Catharine, for dogs, especially in a town--" Mrs. Furze at this moment hastily rang the bell, making an unusual clatter with the crockery: Mr. Furze said the company must excuse him, and the three worthy farmers rose to take their departure. CHAPTER II