“What cat?”
“He’s under the bed, I’ll be bound.”
She called, and a small black cat came out.
“Isn’t he lovely? But, fancy, he’s afraid of me. He always gets under the bed like that.”
Michael felt he ought to make up to the cat what his cordiality had lacked toward the mistress, and he paid so much attention to it that finally the animal lost all fear and jumped on his knee.
“Well, there!” the woman exclaimed. “Did you ever? I’ve never seen him do that before. He knows you’re a gentleman. Oh, yes, they know. His mother ran away. But she comes to see me sometimes and always looks very well, so she’s got a good home. But he isn’t stinted. Oh, no. He gets his milk every day. What I say is, if you’re going to have animals, look after them.”
Michael nodded agreement.
“Because to my mind,” she went on, “a great many animals are better than human beings.”
“Oh, yes, I think they probably are,” said Michael.
“Poor Peter!” she crooned. “I wouldn’t starve you, would I?”