ponderous affection, were the hounds. Two large ladies had each a head
on each of her shoulders; two more had laid their chins on her knees,
and were gazing raptly into her face. The less favoured stood, and
squeezed, and pushed, and panted, with glowing eyes and waving sterns,
in as close a circle round her as it was possible to form.

"Dearest things!" apostrophised Christian, "I feel like Nero--I wish
you had only one lovely head, so that I might kiss you all at once!"

"Rot!" said Larry, who was leaning against the wall, facing her, and
saying: "Down, you brute!" at intervals, to hounds, who, having failed
to force their way to Christian, were directing their attention to
him, to the detriment of his grey flannel trousers. "And look at your
dress from their filthy paws!"

"Good Gawd, Mr. Larry Sir! Don't say paws! 'Ounds 'ave _feet_"
responded Christian, whose imitation of Cottingham was no less
accurate now than it had been some eight years earlier; "and I don't
care a pin for this old skirt anyway--"

"I'm as fond of hounds as anyone," said Larry, reprovingly, "but I
must say I should draw the line at their licking my face!"

"They don't!" said Christian, indignantly; "that's the beauty of them,
They never lick--except perhaps my darling Nancy, because I nursed her
when she had pneumonia."

"If I were you, Cottingham, I wouldn't let Miss Christian into the
kennels," said Larry, with severity, "she makes lap-dogs of the
hounds!"