‘Nephew ... what’s a nephew?’
‘This is my nephew,’ said Mr. Cato, presenting Pendred, who stepped delicately forward, smiling, with hand extended.
The Prince drew him towards himself. Then suddenly, without any warning, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he took him up in his arms and carried him to the light to make a better examination. Mr. Cato stood petrified. Pendred lay perfectly still, looking up with frightened blue eyes. Dwala seated himself on the edge of the table by the window, and put Pendred on his knee. It was the first finished product of civilisation that he had seen, perfect at every point. He smelt him; he stroked his hair and ears; he felt the fineness of his clothes; and growled a deep guttural growl of delight.
‘I should like to have a nephew, too.’
‘Put him down, put him down,’ cried Mr. Cato, finding voice: ‘you mustn’t treat Pendred like that!’
Dwala glided obediently off the table, set Pendred on a chair, and crouched at his feet looking up.
‘Does it talk?’ he asked.
‘That’s right. Of course he does. Pendred’s a terrible chatterbox. He’ll talk your head off.’
‘Please make it talk.’
‘How can he talk when you frighten him to death like that?’