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Updated: June 10, 2025
Look, Petsy is better; she has drunk her cream and rusks quite up. I think it was only the heat." He gave a little good-humoured giggle of falsetto laughter. "I wish, Marion," he said, "that you could manage to take your mind off your dog for a moment and attend to me. And I must really ask you not to give your Petsy any more cream, or she will certainly be sick."
"But by all means come in, mother," he said. "I was not going to bed yet." Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid. "And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?" she asked. "Of course not." Lady Ashbridge took the dog. "There, that is nice," she said. "I told them to see you had a good fire on this cold night. Has it been very cold in London?"
It seemed to him that, in obedience to her, he lay down completely satisfied. . . . He felt no curiosity to see or hear more. She was there, and that was enough. He woke again a little after dawn. Petsy between the window and the door had jumped on to his bed to get out of the draught of the morning wind. For the door was opened.
He awoke into complete consciousness, knowing that something had aroused him, even as three days ago when the telephone rang to summon him to his mother's deathbed. Then he did not know what had awakened him, but now he was sure that there had been a tapping on his door. And after he had sat up in bed completely awake, he heard Petsy give a little welcoming bark.
She wished Michael would not be so disobedient and vex his father, but she was quite sure that before long some formula, in diplomatic phrase, would be found on which reconciliation could be based; whereas it was highly uncertain whether any formula could be found that would produce the desired effect on Petsy, whose illness she attributed to the shock of Og's sudden and disconcerting appearance on Saturday, when all Petsy's nervous force was required to digest the copious cream.
She was preceded by an enormous stag-hound, who, having been shut up in her motor all the way from London, bounded delightedly, with the sense of young limbs released, on to the terrace, and made wild leaps in a circle round the horrified Petsy, who had just received a second saucerful of cream.
"He won't come away, my lord," said the maid; "he's gone back a dozen times to the door." Michael bent down. "Come, Petsy," he said, "come to bed in my room." The dog looked at him for a moment as if weighing his trustworthiness. Then he got up and, with grotesque Chinese high-stepping walk, came to him. "He'll be all right with me," he said to the maid.
So now he left the discouraging companionship of his wife and Petsy and walked swingingly across the garden and the park to the links, there to seek in Macpherson's applause the self-confidence that would enable him to encounter his republican sister and his musical son with an unyielding front. His spirits mounted rapidly as he went.
Petsy II. had come in with her, and she had hoped that he would not annoy Michael. There were steps in the passage outside his room, and he heard a little shrill bark. He opened his door and found his mother's maid there, trying to entice Petsy away from the room next to his. The little dog was curled up against it, and now and then he turned round scratching at it, asking to enter.
He took Petsy into his room next door, and laid him on the chair in which his mother had sat. The dog moved round in a circle once or twice, and then settled himself down to sleep. Michael went to bed also, and lay awake about a couple of minutes, not thinking, but only being, while the owls hooted outside.
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