“We shall never be able to see now which of the three is the greatest comfort,” she said aloud, “because I don’t suppose we shall ever see the grey kitten again.”
“Darkie’s the best,” said Philippa; “he’s so clever, and so handsome too.”
“Don’t you like Blanche?” asked Maisie, dropping her work and looking earnestly at her cousin.
“Sometimes,” said Philippa airily, “but she isn’t a comfort. Miss Mervyn says she’s a plague, and mother would send her away directly if she wasn’t mine. If she was as nice and well-behaved as Darkie, we should all love her.”
“But,” said Maisie, “Darkie is naughty by nature. He really is. We’ve had a great deal of trouble to make him obedient and good. He was a much worse little kitten than Blanche ever was.”
“Well,” said Philippa, “I’m quite sure no one could have had more advantages than Blanche. She’s had everything she wants, and been allowed to do just as she likes.”
“Then,” said Maisie solemnly, “I expect you’ve spoilt her, and that’s why she’s so troublesome and naughty.”
“Perhaps I have and perhaps I haven’t,” said Philippa recklessly; “I’m tired of threading beads. Let’s go out and see how Dennis is getting on.”
On the whole, in spite of some sulky moods and one or two fits of temper, Philippa’s visit passed off extremely well, and Maisie was quite sorry when the time came to say good-bye. She and Dennis watched the carriage drive away, and waved their hands to her as long as it was in sight.
“She’s been quite nice nearly all the while,” said Maisie; “I wish she had stopped longer.”