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Perhaps it was that they had impressed me somehow with the sense
of their superiority. What superiority? Perhaps it consisted just in
their limitations. It was obvious that neither of them had carried away
a high opinion of me. But what affected me most was the indifference of
the Fyne dog. He used to precipitate himself at full speed and with a
frightful final upward spring upon my waistcoat, at least once at each of
our meetings. He had neglected that ceremony this time notwithstanding
my correct and even conventional conduct in offering him a cake; it
seemed to me symbolic of my final separation from the Fyne household. And
I remembered against him how on a certain day he had abandoned poor Flora
de Barral--who was morbidly sensitive.
I sat down in the porch and, maybe inspired by secret antagonism to the
Fynes, I said to myself deliberately that Captain Anthony must be a fine
fellow. Yet on the facts as I knew them he might have been a dangerous
trifler or a downright scoundrel. He had made a miserable, hopeless girl
follow him clandestinely to London.


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