You may think that was all. You may suppose that nothing could be added
to deepen the atmosphere of peace and content. Not so. At this moment,
Mr. Bennett emerged from the French windows of the drawing-room, clad
in white flannels and buckskin shoes, supplying just the finishing
touch that was needed.
Mr. Bennett crossed the lawn, and sat down beside his daughter. Smith,
the bull-dog, raising a sleepy head, breathed heavily; but Mr. Bennett
did not quail. Of late, relations of distant but solid friendship had
come to exist between them. Sceptical at first, Mr. Bennett had at
length allowed himself to be persuaded of the mildness of the animal's
nature and the essential purity of his motives; and now it was only when
they encountered each other unexpectedly round sharp corners that he
ever betrayed the slightest alarm. So now, while Smith slept on the grass,
Mr. Bennett reclined in the chair. It was the nearest thing modern
civilization had seen to the lion lying down with the lamb.
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