“It was Uncle Maurice’s idea,” he said. “He didn’t think that there ought only to be kittens in a cats’ home. We didn’t mind ourselves; and of course, if he puts cats in it, he’ll have to subscribe to the home. What we have started it for was kittens—to save them from the awful death of drowning. We wrote and told you. And we’ve saved quite a lot.”
His limpid blue eyes were wells of candor.
Lady Ryehampton uttered a short snort; and her eyes flashed.
“Do you mean to tell me that your Uncle Maurice is fond enough of cats to bring them all the way from London to a cats’ home at Deeping? He hates cats, and always has!” she said fiercely.
“Of course, I hate cats,” said Sir Maurice with cold severity. “But I hate children’s being brought up to be careless a great deal more. A cats’ home is not a cats’ home unless it has cats in it; and you’ve been encouraging these children to grow up careless by calling a kittens’ home a cats’ home. If you will interfere in their up-bringing, you have no right to do your best to get them into careless ways.”
Taken aback at suddenly finding herself on the defensive Lady Ryehampton blinked at him somewhat owlishly: “That’s all very well,” she said in a less severe tone. “But is there a kittens’ home at all—a kittens’ home with kittens in it? That’s what I want to know.”
“But we wrote and told you how many kittens we had in the cats’ home. You don’t think we’d deceive you, Aunt Amelia?” said the Terror in a deeply injured tone and with a deeply injured air.
“There! I told you that if he said he had kittens in it, there would be,” said Miss Hendersyde with an air of relief.
“Of course there’s a cats’ home with kittens in it!” said Mrs. Dangerfield with some heat. “The Terror wouldn’t lie to you!”
“Hyacinth is incapable of deceit!” cried Sir Maurice splendidly.