Rupert blinked once. The girl didn't say a word. The dog snarled at him, and he was horrified when it did--as was evidenced by the almost imperceptible slide to the very back of the bench--but it stopped when she touched it.
His frown lightened slightly as he produced his own handkerchief and began wiping away the pigeon droppings. He looked in the girl's direction.
"And just where the devil do you think you're going? Is it common behavior for you to come and introduce a man's finest pair of pants to the fourth gate of hell without so much as saying your name or offering a verbal apology? Get back here this instant." He commanded, his tone not at all devoid of its former harshness.