Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. But she certainly remembered that when she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. This she would not endure. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. "Good night, Master. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his side.
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