Still, the meal itself was a cheering one, and, after Marjorie had risen, the sentimental ballad mood gained on me again. After all, what was a stray cat compared with one's marriage vows? If the dear girl wanted to keep the thing we would have it vetted, definitely named, and warned as to followers.
Marjorie's voice interrupted my amiable planning. "Puss, puss," she called. I joined her and stated my decision to relent.
"But she's vanished," said Marjorie. She had. And she has never come back. Ah! those stray cats.
NINE LIVES SPENT WHERE?
FOUR-FOOTED NOMADS.
FICKLE FELINE FRIENDSHIPS.
"Look here, old girl," I said, "I take back all I said about your little friend. I'm with you that she was the dearest, most hygienic, most moral cat that ever strafed a mouse."
"Perhaps it's all for the best that she's gone," said Marjorie.
The dear girl inclined her head towards my shoulder. Well, well.
WHAT EVERY WOMAN WANTS
TO KNOW.
IS KISSING DYING OUT?
PRACTICIANS SAY "NO."