Hugh Walpole 
All Souls’ Night 

Mrs. Penwin gave one of her nervous little screams when she saw the dog.

‘Oh, Charlie!’ she cried. ‘You surely haven’t bought it!’ and her little brow, that she tried so fiercely to keep smooth, puckered into its customary little gathering of wrinkles.

The dog, taking an instant dislike to her, sank his head between his shoulders. He was an Alsatian.

‘Well . . .’ said Charlie, smiling nervously. He knew that his impulsiveness had led him once more astray. ‘Only the other evening you were saying that you’d like a dog.’

‘Yes, but not an Alsatian! You know what Alsatians are. We read about them in the paper every day. They are simply not to be trusted. I’m sure he looks as vicious as anything. And what about Mopsa?’

‘Oh, Mopsa . . .’ Charlie hesitated. ‘He’ll be all right. You see, Sibyl, it was charity really. The Sillons are going to London as you know. They simply can’t take him. It wouldn’t be fair. They’ve found it difficult enough in Edinburgh as it is.’

‘I’m sure they are simply getting rid of him because he’s vicious.’

‘No, Maude Sillon assured me. He’s like a lamb——’

‘Oh, Maude! She’d say anything!’

‘You know that you’ve been wanting a companion for Mopsa——’

‘A companion for Mopsa! That’s good!’ Sibyl laughed her shrill little laugh that was always just out of tune.