and adopted daughter. She came into the
room shortly afterward, and I felt, as I went through the form of an
introduction, that her sweet, fresh face, shaded by soft masses of
dusky-brown hair, more than justified all the dreamy hopes and fancies
with which I had looked forward to that moment.

She talked to me in a pretty, confidential, appealing way, which I
have heard her dearest friends censure as childish and affected; but I
thought then that her manner had an indescribable charm and fascination
about it, and the memory of it makes my heart ache now with a pang that
is not all pain.

Even before the colonel made his appearance I had begun to see that my
enemy, the poodle, occupied an exceptional position in that household.
It was abundantly clear by the time I took my leave.

He seemed to be the centre of their domestic system, and even lovely
Lilian revolved contentedly around him as a kind of satellite; he
could do no wrong in his owner's eyes, his prejudices (and he was
a narrow-minded animal) were rigorously respected, and all domestic
arrangements were made with a primary view to his convenience.

I may be wrong, but I cannot think that it is wise to put any poodle
upon such a pedestal as that. How this one in particular, as ordinary
a quadruped as ever breathed, had contrived to impose thus upon his
infatuated proprietors, I never could understand, but so it was; he
even engrossed the chief part of the conversation, which after any lull
seemed to veer round to him by a sort of natural law.

I had to endure a long biographical sketch of him,--what a society paper
would call an "anecdotal photo,"--and each fresh anecdote seemed to me
to exhibit the depraved malignity of the beast in a more glaring light,
and render the doting admiration of the family more astounding than
ever.

"Did you tell Mr. Weatherhead, Lily, about Bingo" (Bingo was the
poodle's preposterous name) "and Tacks? No? Oh, I _must_ tell him that;
it'll make him laugh. Tacks is our gardener down in the village (d' ye
know Tacks?). Well, Tacks was up here the other day, nailing up some
trellis-work at the top of a ladder, and all the time there was Master
Bingo sitting quietly at the foot of it looking on; wouldn't leave it
on any account. Tacks said he was quite company for him. Well, at last,
when Tacks had finished and was coming down, what do you thing that
rascal there did? Just sneaked quietly up behind and nipped him in
both calves a