So the conversation progressed, conversation that was cut as thinly and nicely as the lozenges of bread and butter, fragments of which on various parts of the rug the cats were eating with that apparent difficulty cats always find in mastication.
"I sadly spoil my pets," said Miss Verney. "For really, you see, they are my best friends, as I always say to people who look surprized at my indulgence of them.... Would you mind telling Bellerophon he's left a piece of butter just by your foot, that you might otherwise tread into the carpet. You'll forgive my fussiness, but then, you see, my father was a sailor."
Pauline was longing to know what Miss Verney thought of Guy, and presently when tea was over she suggested that he should be shown the garden, the green oblong of which looked so inviting from the low windows.
"Dear me, the garden," said Miss Verney. "Rather early in the year, don't you think, for the garden? My shoes. For though my father was a sailor, I do not, alas, inherit his constitution. I really think, Pauline, we must wait for the garden. But perhaps Mr. Hazlewood would care...."
"Guy, you must see the garden," Pauline declared.
So Guy rose and, having listened to Miss Verney's instructions about the key in the garden-door, went out followed by several cats. A moment later they saw him still with two cats in attendance bending with an appearance of profound interest over the narrow flower-beds that fringed the grass.
"I declare that Pegasus and dear Bellerophon have taken quite a fancy to him. Most remarkable and gratifying," said Miss Verney, watching from the window through which the western sun flaming upon her thin hair kindled a few golden strands from the ashes that seemed before entirely to have quenched them.
"Miss Verney, can you keep a secret?" asked Pauline breathlessly.
"My dear, you forget my father was a sailor," replied Miss Verney supporting with each arm a martial elbow.
"He and I are engaged," Pauline whispered through a blush.