“It is Black-Face's sister,” replied Mrs. Denville, “and she is acting so strangely. She won't stay at home, and Anthony says that Mrs. Darley is very much amused, and sends word for us to keep her if we wish her. I thought cats liked their homes.”
“So they do,” said Mr. Denville, “as a general thing, but there are cat cranks as well as human cranks. Come here, runaway.”
Serena glided up to him. Oh! the grace and elegance of her motions! “Dear me!” he said, “what style—what manners! We have something pretty high-toned here, Maud.”
“But we don't want three cats,” said his wife with a laugh.
“Ship them to Maine,” he replied, and he laughed too, and went back into his room.
Serena was in an ecstasy. She posed, she swam through the air, she threw out her chest, she held up her head. She was addressing an audience of country cats. She was being hailed as the talented lecturer from Boston. I really thought she would expire from happiness.
When we came to bed she swelled so, or perhaps I should say, she expanded so enormously with happiness, and gratified conceit, that there was no room for me in the big chair beside her. I crept to the foot of Mary's bed, and here I lie, watching Serena's pretty chest rise and fall in a gleam of electric light that shines through the window.
It seems like a dream that she should be here, established in my bed. I am happy to have my sister with me, and to see her so happy, but I don't like her manner of leaving home.
Little Mary, by the way, does not seem to take to Serena. She is very kind to her, but she does not pet her as she does Slyboots and me.
I was thinking to-night as I lay here, that I had had one sensation to-day in the thought of going to Maine for the summer. I should rather say I have had two, for Serena's being here is just about as wonderful as my proposed journey. I suppose I am to be allowed to go. I know my father did not want me to, but now that he is so annoyed with Serena I have a feeling that he would not let either of us return home.