“I don’t believe she could learn,” said Philippa. “She’s quite a nuisance at meal times. She stands up and claws and mews until she is fed. She doesn’t give any peace.”
Maisie looked shocked.
“That’s not at all well-behaved,” she said. “You oughtn’t to let her do that.”
“I can’t help it,” answered Philippa. “I often box her ears, but it’s no good. She’s a greedy cat, I think. Not so nice as this one, and after all, black is a better colour than white, and Darkie has a bushy tail.”
Dennis looked triumphant, but Maisie was sorry to think that the white kitten was not turning out well; and though she had never liked it as much as the others, she felt it was not entirely its own fault. Philippa evidently did not know how to manage cats. She was now on the point of giving Darkie a large corner of buttered toast, when Dennis interfered.
“You mustn’t do that, please,” he said firmly. “Darkie’s never fed at meals. He has his tea afterwards in his own dish.”
“Well!” said Philippa, looking very much surprised, “I do call that cruel. You don’t mean to say you let him sit up like that for nothing! Blanche wouldn’t bear that. If we don’t give her what she wants at once, she cries so loud that we’re obliged to.”
“She’s learned that of you, I suppose, hasn’t she?” said Dennis.
He spoke without any intention of offending his cousin, and did not mean to be rude; but Philippa drew herself up, and flushed a pale pink all over her face.
“You’re a rude boy,” she said. Then after a pause, she gave a little nod at him, and added, “Mother says you’ve just the air of a little Hodge the ploughboy. So there!”