"Did you ever, in your childhood, read the story of the White Cat? It's a fairy tale, you know."
The name had struck me as familiar when she used it before, but I could not recall the story.
"It was one of those tales of the three quests, wasn't it?" I said.
"Yes; there are many variations of the same theme. It is the story of a king and his three sons. The father decided first to leave his throne to the one who would find the smallest dog in the world; then he gave them another quest, to find a piece of cloth that would go through the eye of a needle. Of course, the youngest son won each time, but the king wasn't contented, and for the final test commanded them to find the most beautiful lady in the world."
"And the youngest son won, of course. He always does, but he never plays fair. He's always helped by a fairy godmother or something."
"Of course. Such are the ethics of Fairyland. This prince was helped by a white cat. While he was on his travels he found her castle in a deep forest, and he was carried in by invisible hands."
"Just like me," I remarked.
She looked at me for a moment with an amusing expression of surprise, and a timid smile crept to her face. "That's so, isn't it? How queer! Why, I'll have to give you my little Hiawatha, to carry it out, won't I? Will you take him?"
"Oh, if you would!" I said. "I'd love to have him. It will be delightful to have something that has belonged to you."
"He's not the smallest dog in the world, but he's yours."