because he never looked at her, Mary because he once said to her,
"Little girls must play as well as work, you know." He always talked
down to us as though we were beings of another and inferior planet.
He called it, "Getting on with the little ones." No, he was not
popular with us.

He stood on this particular and dramatic occasion in front of the
group in the doorway and stared--as well he might. Unfortunately the
situation, already bad enough, was aggravated by this dark
prominence of Mr. Jellybrand. It cannot be found in any chronicles
that Mr. Jellybrand and the dog had met before; it is simply a fact
that the dog, raising his eyes at the opening of the door and
catching sight of the black-coated figure, forgot instantly his
toilet, rose dripping from his rug, and advanced growling, his lips
back, his ears out, his tail erect, towards the door. Then
everything happened together. Mr. Jellybrand, who had been afraid of
dogs ever since, as an infant, he had been mistaken for a bone by a
large retriever, stepped back upon Aunt Amy, who uttered a shrill
cry. Mrs. Cole, although she did not forsake her accustomed
placidity, said: "Nurse . . . Nurse . . ." Jeremy cried: "It's all
right, he wouldn't touch anything, he's only friendly." Mary and
Helen together moved forward as though to protect Jeremy, and the
Jampot could be heard in a confused wail: "Not me, Mum . . .
Wickedest boy . . . better give notice . . . as never listens . . .
dog . . . dog . . ."

The animal, however, showed himself now, as at that first earlier
view of him, indifferent to his surroundings. He continued his
advance and then, being only a fraction of an inch from Mr.
Jellybrand's tempting gleaming black trousers, he stopped, crouched