“Oh, it’s all right,” said Barney, nonchalantly. “Don’t scold him. ’Tis his nature to, don’t you know. He’ll find out two things in about a minute: first, and most important, that I’m going to be one of the family; and second, that he’s met his match. I say, Mary, this wouldn’t be a bad scene for the Aquarium, don’t you know,--Sampson defying the lightning, or was it Ajax? I never can remember those classical allusions.” “Down, sir!” commanded the girl. “Come here and apologize!” Barney relaxed his grasp on the collar, and the huge dog cringed up to Lady Mary with a most crestfallen air. It was evident that, although he deferred to his mistress’s authority, he was still unshaken in his opinion that such goings on as he had just beheld were entirely out of order; and although he humbly licked the girl’s hand, he cast side looks at Barney that were anything but friendly, yet the truculent glance was mitigated by that respect for proven strength which one strong animal feels when he meets a stronger. The girl, crouching, patted his shaggy coat, and, alternately scolding and petting him, explained the situation as well as she could, beseeching Nero to treat Barney as a brother. When she stood up again--blessed are the peacemakers!--Barney said: “Let’s see if he understands?” “Now, Barney,” cried the girl, “you must behave yourself! You can’t tell who might come into view any moment.” “We’ll risk the chance comer--purely for the dog’s benefit, you know, Mary.” The big dog made no move this time; but his angry eye lighted up with a dangerous lurid gleam, and the corners of his heavy lips quivered, showing the teeth. “Oh, it’s a case of pure jealousy,” said Barney. “I can see that. Nero and I never can be friends.” They walked together slowly along the lane, the dogs in front. Nero seemed exceedingly dejected, and strode with offended dignity, taking little notice of the other two dogs; who, with a levity that met his sullen disapproval, indicated now and then by deep, low growls of rebuke, futilely chased imaginary rabbits by the hedge-rows, tumbling over each other in their frivolous, headlong career. “Do you know, Mary, I think we should join hands and swing our arms as we walk along. I want to shout and whoop like a red Indian--and yet calm reflection tells me it isn’t good form. I believe I’m hopelessly plebeian, and yearn for a Whitechapel expression of my happiness. If I weren’t afraid of the dog--that is, morally afraid, for I can throttle him physically--I’d pull the pin out of that most fetching hat of yours, and put the hat on my own head, giving you mine. Actually, I’d like to dance, don’t you know!” The girl laughed. “I shouldn’t mind a dance myself,” she said. “Oh, then it’s all right! I was beginning to fear I had a costermonger for my ancestor; but, if you’re not shocked, I may, for all I know, be descended from the Conqueror.”