height of the noble girl. But the dearer and sweeter
her bearing became, the more conscious he was of the dead weight he was
dragging: in truth her behaviour stamped his false position to hard print the
more he admired her for it, and he had shrinkings from the feminine part it
imposed on him to play.
 

                                  Chapter XXV

                   In which the Stream Flows Muddy and Clear

An Irish retriever-pup of the Shannon breed, Pat by name, was undergoing tuition
on the sward close by the kennels, Rose's hunting-whip being passed through his
collar to restrain erratic propensities. The particular point of instruction
which now made poor Pat hang out his tongue, and agitate his crisp brown curls,
was the performance of the down-charge; a ceremony demanding implicit obedience
from the animal in the midst of volatile gambadoes, and a simulation of profound
repose when his desire to be up and bounding was mighty. Pat's Irish eyes were
watching Rose, as he lay with his head couched between his forepaws in the
required attitude. He had but half learnt his lesson, and something in his
half-humorous, half-melancholy look talked to Rose more eloquently than her
friend Ferdinand at her elbow. Laxley was her assistant dog-breaker. Rose would
not abandon her friends because she had accepted a lover. On the contrary, Rose
was very kind to Ferdinand, and perhaps felt bound to be so to-day. To-day,
also, her face was lighted; a readiness to colour, and an expression of deeper
knowledge, which she now had, made the girl dangerous to friends. This was not
Rose's fault: but there is no doubt among the faculty that love is a contagious
disease, and we ought not to come within miles of the creatures in whom it
lodges.
    Pat's tail kept hinting to his mistress that a change would afford him
satisfaction. After a time she withdrew her wistful gaze from him, and listened
entirely to Ferdinand: and it struck her that he spoke particularly well to-day,
though she did not see so much in his eyes as in Pat's. The subject concerned
his departure, and he asked Rose if she should be sorry. Rose, to make him sure
of it, threw a music into her voice dangerous to friends. For she had given
heart and soul to Evan, and had a sense, therefore, of being irredeemably in
debt to her old associates, and wished to be doubly kind to them.
    Pat took advantage of the diversion to stand up quietly and have a shake. He