That was not the Mistress's way.

Like Lad, she was thoroughbred in soul as well as in body.

And neither she nor her dog belonged to the breed of screamers.

Through her mind, in that briefest fraction of a second whizzed the consoling thought: "He's not mad, whatever else he is.

A mad dog never swerves from his path." But if the Mistress remained moveless, Lad did not.