The guilelessness deepened and deepened on the Terror’s face. “Well, you see, there aren’t many cats in Little Deeping—not enough to fill a cats’ home decently,” he said slowly. “We should have to have bicycles to collect them—from Great Deeping, and Muttle Deeping, and farther off.”
Erebus gasped; and the light of understanding illumined her charming face, as she cried in a tone of awe not untinctured with admiration: “Well, you do think of things!”
“I have to,” said the Terror. “If I didn’t we should never have a single thing.”
The Terror procured a stamp from Mrs. Dangerfield. He did not tell her of the splendid scheme he was promoting; he only said that he had thought he would write to Aunt Amelia. Mrs. Dangerfield was pleased with him for his thought: she wished him to stand well with his great-aunt, since she was a rich woman without children of her own. She did not, indeed, suggest that the letter should be shown to her, though she suspected that it contained some artless request. She thought it better that the Terror should write to his great-aunt to make requests rather than not write at all.
The letter posted, the Twins resumed the somewhat jerky tenor of their lives. Erebus was full of speculations about the changes in their lives those bicycles would bring about; she would pause in the very middle of some important enterprise to discuss the rides they would take on them, the orchards that those machines would bring within their reach. But the Terror would have none of it; his calm philosophic mind forbade him to discuss his chickens before they were hatched.
Since her philanthropy was confined entirely to cats, it is not remarkable that philanthropy, and not intelligence, was the chief characteristic of Lady Ryehampton. As the purport of her great-nephew’s letter slowly penetrated her mind, a broad and beaming smile of gratification spread slowly over her large round face; and as she handed the letter to Miss Hendersyde, her companion, she cried in unctuous tones: “The dear boy! So young, but already enthusiastic about great things!”
Miss Hendersyde looked at her employer patiently; she foresaw that she was going to have to struggle with her to save her from being once more victimized. She had come to suspect anything that stirred Lady Ryehampton to a noble phrase. Her eyes brightened with humorous appreciation as she read the letter of Erebus; and when she came to the end of it she opened her mouth to point out that Little Deeping was one of the last places in England to need a cats’ home. Then she bethought herself of the whole situation, shut her mouth with a little click, and her face went blank.
Then she breathed a short silent prayer for forgiveness, smiled and said warmly: “It’s really wonderful. You must have inspired him with that enthusiasm yourself.”
“I suppose I must,” said Lady Ryehampton with an air of satisfaction. “And I must be careful not to discourage him.”
Miss Hendersyde thought of the Terror’s face, his charming sympathetic manners, and his darned knickerbockers. It was only right that some of Lady Ryehampton’s money should go to him; indeed that money ought to be educating him at a good school. It was monstrous that the great bulk of it should be spent on cats; cats were all very well but human beings came first. And the Terror was such an attractive human being.