Fyne was beginning to swear at him in low, sepulchral tones when I appeared.

The dog became at once wildly demonstrative, half strangling himself in his collar, his eyes and tongue hanging out in the excess of his incomprehensible affection for me.

This was before he caught sight of the cake in my hand.

A series of vertical springs high up in the air followed, and then, when he got the cake, he instantly lost his interest in everything else.
Fyne was slightly vexed with me.

As kind a master as any dog could wish to have, he yet did not approve of cake being given to dogs.