How strange!" "Very," said Lyndall, working with her little toe at a stone in the ground before her.
Gregory felt he must sustain the conversation.

The only thing he could think of was to recite a piece of poetry.

He knew he had learnt many about love; but the only thing that would come into his mind now was the "Battle of Hohenlinden," and "Not a drum was heard," neither of which seemed to bear directly on the subject on hand.
But unexpected relief came to him from Doss, who, too deeply lost in contemplation of his crevice, was surprised by the sudden descent of the stone Lyndall's foot had loosened, which, rolling against his little front paw, carried away a piece of white-skin.

Doss stood on three legs, holding up the paw with an expression of extreme self-commiseration; he then proceeded to hop slowly upward in search of sympathy.
"You have hurt that dog," said Gregory.
"Have I ?" she replied indifferently, and re-opened the book, as though to resume her study of the play.
"He's a nasty, snappish little cur!" said Gregory, calculating from her manner that the remark would be endorsed.

"He snapped at my horse's tail yesterday, and nearly made it throw me.