She had Mrs.Fyne's walking-stick and was escorted by the Fyne dog.

Her dead white face struck me with astonishment, so that I forgot to raise my hat.
I just sat and stared.

The dog, a vivacious and amiable animal which for some inscrutable reason had bestowed his friendship on my unworthy self, rushed up the bank demonstratively and insinuated himself under my arm.
The girl-friend (it was one of them) went past some way as though she had not seen me, then stopped and called the dog to her several times; but he only nestled closer to my side, and when I tried to push him away developed that remarkable power of internal resistance by which a dog makes himself practically immovable by anything short of a kick.

She looked over her shoulder and her arched eyebrows frowned above her blanched face.

It was almost a scowl.