It was from her that Wada and I learned how mortal a sin it was to give meat to a young puppy.
Furthermore, she laid down the law and the diet for Possum, not alone to me and Wada, but to the steward, the carpenter, and Mr.Mellaire.

Of the latter two, because they ate by themselves in the big after-room and because Possum played there, she was especially suspicious; and she was outspoken in voicing her suspicions to their faces.

The carpenter mumbled embarrassed asseverations in broken English of past, present, and future innocence, the while he humbly scraped and shuffled before her on his huge feet.

Mr.Mellaire's protestations were of the same nature, save that they were made with the grace and suavity of a Chesterfield.
In short, Possum's diet raised quite a tempest in the _Elsinore_ teapot, and by the time it was over Miss West had established this particular contact with me and given me a feeling that we were the mutual owners of the puppy.

I noticed, later in the day, that it was to Miss West that Wada went for instructions as to the quantity of warm water he must use to dilute Possum's condensed milk.
Lunch won my continued approbation of the cook.