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.