"--I can see she is." Yes, the way she's lolling in Harry's arms, giving little wiggles and straining to lick his face: all very lady-like. "Well--shall we bring her with us?"

Feuilly is rather absently rubbing the ears of a larger hound, an old cloudy-eyed fellow who seems to have opted for leaning heavily against him instead of joining the busy throng around Harry.