"Aren't they angels?"
"Well, if you ask me," said Charles Bevan, as if he were giving his opinion on some object of vértu, "I'd say they were more like—the other things."
"I know they are not pretty," said Fanny regretfully, "but they are faithful. They always come to tea just as if they were invited."
"I wonder your poodle—I mean the dog, lets them in."
"Boy-Boy?—Oh, he only barks at things at night when they can't see him; he would run from a mouse, he's such a dear old coward. Aren't they thirsty?"
"Where did you get them? I should think they would be hard to match."
"I didn't get them: they are not ours, they just come in."
"Do you mean to say you let stray cats in like that?"
"I don't let them in, they come in through a hole in the scullery window."
"Goodness gracious!"