"She isn't going to take them out in her hands, is she?"
Mrs. Morris whispered to her English friend.
"She always does," was the placid answer. "See!"
Lady Margaret had made a bracelet of a snake and was holding out her arm. One by one she added the others while Mrs. Morris, having interposed her friend between her and the spectacle, controlled her nerves as best she could. "They are quite harmless, quite, I assure you," said Lady Margaret, making a reassuring gesture with her arm, on which it happened two snakes were coiled. "Now, look, my lads, I'll put this one back; he is a well-meaning snake but rather stupid. This one I'll lay on the table."
Mrs. Morris rapidly retreated towards the fire, stepping on the hound's tail by the way, and naturally bringing out a deep growl which sent her back again.
Unconscious of her guest's alarm, Lady Margaret continued: "His name is Marcus Aurelius; I call him that after the great Roman emperor, because he is so sweet-tempered and intelligent. See what a humorous expression he has!" (And, in fact, the snake's tiny eyes and wide mouth had something the look of an ironical grin about them.) "Look! See him follow me about the table. He knows his friend—don't you, my pet? Now, Marcus, I'll put up my arm for a pole; make a monkey of yourself. Climb down, again. Now," tapping the table, "be a dead snake. Very good. Now, show them what you think of strangers." She motioned to Oscar; but he edged back behind Nora, muttering, "No, they are nasty!"
Then Nora stepped forward. Instantly the snake coiled itself up, hissing.
"Now, you," said Lady Margaret to Edmund.
"He won't be afraid of me," laughed Edmund, stretching forth his hand; "come, pet!"
And to Lady Margaret's surprise the snake came, twining about the boy's wrist as it was used to twine about hers. "Ah, you have my gift, my dear!" she cried, delighted.
She put the snake back in the box and excused herself for a moment. The page brought in the tea-tray. In a moment Lady Margaret returned and made the tea, Mrs. Morris who had been looking on all this while in a kind of trance of horror, recovered enough, at these refreshing signs, to sink into a chair by a low table. She clutched her sister's arm—Nora sat next to her—and murmured, "Was there ever such an awful menagerie of a house?"