And indeed Tartar walked past the glass door opening to the garden, stiff, tawny, and black-muzzled as ever. He still seemed in bad humour. He was growling again, and whistling a half-strangled whistle, being an inheritance from the bulldog side of his ancestry.
"There are other visitors coming," observed Shirley, with that provoking coolness which the owners of formidable-looking dogs are apt to show while their animals are all bristle and bay. Tartar sprang down the pavement towards the gate, bellowing _avec explosion_. His mistress quietly opened the glass door, and stepped out chirruping to him. His bellow was already silenced, and he was lifting up his huge, blunt, stupid head to the new callers to be patted.

And indeed Tartar walked past the garden door. He still seemed in bad humour: he was growling again, and wheezing.
"There are other visitors coming," observed Shirley, with the provoking coolness which the owners of formidable-looking dogs tend to show while their animals are all bristle and bay. Tartar sprang towards the gate, bellowing. His mistress quietly opened the glass door, and stepped out to him. His bellow was already silenced, and he was lifting up his huge, blunt head to the new callers to be patted.
