After a few moments she recovered, and was able to smile through her tears at the alarm of her dear one. Then she told George all: how the cat had been ass enough to leave his tail lying around loose while asleep; how, in the intensity of her waiting, she had put a crimp in it with the fell rocker of the chair; and how the cat had been drawn into statements, by sheer dint of agony, which it was impolitic as well as useless to repeat.
“So I was just in time, Angelina, to relieve both you and the cat of what was doubtless an awkward situation.” And George Maurice St. John laughed gaily.
Then he kissed her with a fervour that left nothing to be wished for, and Angelina took a brace and sat erect on the sofa.
“I feel better now!” she remarked.
George tried to get in another kiss, but she stood him off.
“Don't crowd your luck, dear!” she said, with a sweet softness. “I am yours for ever, and there is not the slightest need for any excess of osculatory zeal. You are to have me with you always, so set a brake or two and take the grades easy.”
Thus repulsed, George Maurice St. John sat abashed. A pained look seamed his features; he bit his lips and was silent.
Daylight became twilight, and twilight retreated into the darkness of a new night. It struck eight o'clock in the adjoining tower, and George Maurice St John was a-hungered. His stomach was the first to tip it off to him.
“Don't we feed to-night?” asked George Maurice St. John.