"Do you mind him?" asked his mistress in melting tones.
Crane didn't mind him at all. He offered the cat a bit of chicken. Willoughby seemed to enjoy it, chewing it with quick little jerks of his head. And presently, he raised a paw and deflected a fork which Crane was carrying to his own mouth. Even this Crane appeared to find amusing.
Before they had finished, the kitchen clock behind them suddenly and discordantly struck once. Burton started and half turned his head, but she stopped him.
"Let's guess what time it is," she said. "Of course, it's later than half past ten. It might be half past eleven."
"Or even half past twelve."
"It could be one."
"But certainly not half past."
They looked around. It was half past.
Jane-Ellen sprang up.
"Oh, how dreadful!" she exclaimed, without, however, any very real conviction. "How terribly late, and I have to get up so early in the morning."