BOOK 3

In spite of her determination not to give Brand an inch, Isabella caught herself smiling too.

'Daddy,' said Connie, frowning, 'you don't have a cat. And what's—what's ul—uliginous?'

'Growing in muddy and swampy places. Which would have described you nicely if I hadn't caught you. Now see here, Miss Ryder—'

But Connie wasn't listening. Instead her big dark eyes were fixed on a fluffy white puffball nestled in an inside pocket of Brand's jacket. When the puffball started to squirm, and extended a black button nose, she let out a howl of delight that caused a passing and presumably deaf old gentleman to smile benignly, and his female companion to wince.

'You've got a puppy!' she cried. 'Oh, he's so cute. Daddy, is he for me? Is he really?'

Isabella's heart sank, and she felt a familiar urge to give Brand a good hard kick. Not that it was entirely his fault. She had meant to tell him a dog was impossible the first time the subject came up. But she hadn't done so because so much had happen