She did not love dogs as the Morrises did.

She tried to, but she could not.
Dogs can see fun in things as well as people can, and I buried my muzzle in the hearth-rug, so that she would not see how I was curling up my lip and smiling at her.
"You are a good dog," she said, slowly.

"You are" then she stopped, and could not think of anything else to say to me.

I got up and stood in front of her, for a well-bred dog should not lie down when a lady speaks to him.

I wagged my body a little, and I would gladly have said something to help her out of her difficulty, but I couldn't.