Mary said, "And you actually want Jack to be happy, Cookie. It isn't simply vanity and envy."
Sacheverell said, "My God, it's happening. And I mostly thought it was a stunt I was stage managing."
As for Phil, his feelings were in that golden sea they'd swum in this afternoon. He felt as if his heart were joined by sensitive strands to those of the five persons around him. It even seemed to him that there were delicate, gossamer wires connecting him to the figurines so that he understood Romadka, Barnes, Vanadin, maybe even himself.
Then, simultaneously with the others, he turned toward the velvet curtains. A few inches above the floor, Lucky's little green head had poked through. It hung there like a large green jewel, flooding them in turn with its mellow rays. Then Lucky pushed all the way through the curtains.
Swiftly, from under tables and chairs, out from the fireplace, and from behind tiers of books, all the other cats appeared and gathered around Lucky in a circle.
"It has begun," Sacheverell whispered happily. "The world is changing."
"Saint Francis of Assisi," Mary murmured weakly, "incarnate in a cat."
Then Lucky walked slowly across the room. The other cats made way for him and then followed him, still keeping a respectful distance. He passed Mary and Cookie, passed Sacheverell, who looked just a shade disappointed, and sprang lightly into Phil's arms.
Phil had never held anything that weighed so little, or felt fur so electric. His chest seemed to him to be rather too small for his heart.
Sacheverell called softly yet ringingly, "You are the chosen one." Phil looked at him and then, with an unreasoning and almost mystical gust of apprehension, at the black window behind him.