“My sweet Philippa,” said Mrs Trevor in a soothing voice, “do listen to me a moment; the kitten is a naughty little mischievous thing, and I cannot put up with it in the house any longer. I will just tell you why. You know my new velvet mantle which has just come down from London? The other day Briggs found the kitten lying in the very middle of it on my bed! Its paws were muddy, its hairs came off and stuck to the velvet, and I doubt if the mantle will ever be the same. Now, my darling, don’t agitate yourself. It will be quite happy in the stable, and we shall be much more comfortable without it indoors. If anything’s broken or goes wrong, I’m always told it is ‘Miss Philippa’s kitten,’ and I’m tired to death of it.”
Mrs Trevor paused and looked appealingly at her daughter, who only stamped her foot angrily in reply.
“I’ll give you what you like for a pet instead of it. Love-birds, now, or a cockatoo? A cockatoo is no trouble at all, and quite an ornament to the house, and worth a great deal more than a silly white kitten.—Where are you going, my love?”—for Philippa had suddenly rushed back through the hall and out of the front door. In a short time she reappeared with the kitten hugged up to her breast, passed her mother without a word, went straight into the schoolroom and shut the door very loud. Mrs Trevor looked after her with a sigh of despair, but as usual made no further attempt to oppose her, and Philippa was left to amuse herself with her kitten as she liked.
But it was not nearly so easy, she said to herself, to find amusement at Haughton as it had been at Fieldside. There she had never known what it was to be dull and cross; here she felt both, as she looked round the empty schoolroom with the white kitten tucked under one arm. The room had a prim, precise air, with all the books and toys carefully arranged on the shelves, the musical box in its shining case on its own particular table, and nothing left lying about. Philippa pursed up her lips discontentedly. How different it was to the pleasant noise and bustle, and all the little daily excitements of Fieldside! How dull it was! How sorry she was to come back to it! She let the kitten drop listlessly, and stood regarding her playthings and treasures with gloomy dislike. Not one of them pleased her, not even her last new possession, the musical box. The kitten seemed to share her mood, for she walked restlessly about the room, sniffed in a disdainful way at the furniture, and gave a tiny peevish mew.
“Here, Blanche, come and play,” cried Philippa.
She threw an india-rubber ball across the floor, but the kitten hardly deigned to turn her head towards it.
“How stupid you are!” exclaimed her mistress angrily, as she thought of Darkie’s frolics and gambols. “You have heaps of things to play with, and yet you won’t play, and I don’t believe you’re a bit glad to see me either.”
Blanche continued to stroll uneasily round the room as though in search of something, and took no notice of the ball, even when it was rolled right under her nose.
“Well, I suppose what you want is your clockwork mouse,” said Philippa, “and that’s your very best toy. But I shan’t let you have it long, because I’m not going to spoil you ever any more.”
She wound up the little mouse, and let it run nimbly round and round close to the kitten. Formerly it had been a never-failing excitement, but now, to Philippa’s surprise and vexation, Blanche sat perfectly unmoved before it, and did not lift a paw. Perhaps during her short visit to the stable she had become acquainted with real mice, for after giving one slight sniff at the imitation one, she rose and walked away with a high and scornful step.