“Aren’t you going to put her down?” whispered Celia.
Uncle William shook his head. “Not yet.” He sat very quiet and the fire crackled in the stove—with the kettle humming a little—and leaving off and beginning again.... Juno came across and leaped up. She rubbed against him and waited a minute—then she purred towards his knee. Uncle William watched her benignantly, holding very still.
She purred softly, kneading her claws and talking.... Presently she paused, with fixed gaze—her tail switched a question and was still. She leaped down and went across and sat down, her back to the room, and communed with space.
Uncle William’s chuckle was very gentle.... “Juno’s makin’ up her mind,” he said.
Celia turned and looked at the grey back and laughed—“She’s jealous!” she said in surprise.
Uncle William nodded. “Women-folks.”
She made no response and the room was still again. The baby stirred and stretched an arm and saw Uncle William’s face bending over her—and laughed.
Celia came across and held out her arms—“Give her to me!” she said.
She gathered in the child, with little inarticulate words, and Uncle William watched her gravely. “You ain’t treated him right, Celia,” he said gently.
She looked at him over the baby’s frock—and her eyes had little stars in them.