Half an hour later, Peter went back to the drawing-room, to find Leonore reposing in an exceedingly undignified position before the fire on a big tiger-skin, and stroking a Persian cat, who, in delight at this enviable treatment, purred and dug its claws into the rug. Peter stood for a time watching the pretty tableau, wishing he was a cat.
“Yes, Tawney-eye,” said Leonore, in heartrending tones, “it isn’t a good day at all.”
“I’m going to quarrel with you on that,” said Peter. “It’s a glorious day.”
Leonore rose from the skin. “Tawney-eye and I don’t think so.”
“But you will. In the first place I’ve explained about the monopoly and the photographs to your mamma, and she says she did not understand it, and that no one is to blame. Secondly, she says I’m to stay to dinner and am to monopolize you till then. Thirdly, she says we may be just as good friends as we please. Fourthly, she has asked me to come and stay for a week at Grey-Court this summer. Now, what kind of a day is it?”
“Simply glorious! Isn’t it, Tawney-eye?” And the young lady again forgot her “papas, proprieties, potatoes, prunes and prisms,” and dropping down on the rug, buried her face in the cat’s long silky hair. Then she reappeared long enough to say:
“You are such a comforting person! I’m so glad you were born.”
CHAPTER XLV.
THE BOSS.
After this statement, so satisfying to both, Leonore recovered her dignity enough to rise, and say, “Now, I want to pay you for your niceness. What do you wish to do?”