“How extraordinary,” murmured Mrs. Denville.
“And you're a little bit jealous, aren't you?” said Mr. Denville suddenly to me.
I felt ashamed of myself. How had he known what was going on under the table?
“Come here,” he said, and he took me on his knee, and fed me from his plate during the remainder of the meal.
“Mary,” he said when he left the table, “don't neglect the old cat for the new one.”
“Just as if I could neglect my Black-Face,” said the little girl earnestly. “Come here, dear,” and she opened her arms, and petted me till I was so proud and happy that I forgot all about the other cat.
She was watching me though, watching me from one sly eye, as she washed her face, and pretended to be admiring the flowers in the window. I understood her tricks.
After breakfast, Mary took me up-stairs in her arms, and the Common cat had to follow after. However, as if to get even with me for this attention, she sprang up on my chair as soon as we arrived in Mary's bedroom. There the little girl left us and went to clean her big canary cage, and I was about to follow her, when I thought I had better embrace the opportunity of having an explanation with my rival.
“Cat,” I said, “I don't like your actions.”
She gazed at me steadily, and I had a good chance to look into her eyes. They reminded me of the pond on the Common. They were muddy, and looked as if there were all kinds of queer things down at the bottom of them.