"About rabies," said Angela.
"Well?" said I patiently.
"Well, about Mélisande," said Angela.
"What about Mélisande?" I replied.
"Oh, you know quite well what about Mélisande," said Angela; "about her and Peggy playing so much together. Is it quite wise, do you think? I've been bothering about it for some days now; cats are such queer things and a cat with rabies would be so dreadfully dangerous."
"There I quite agree with you," I answered meditatively. "Though I have rather excepted Mélisande from the general rule I have always considered a cat an exceedingly dangerous animal, and a cat with rabies is, of course, ten times worse; it simply oughtn't to be allowed."
"I felt sure you would agree with me," said Angela.
Mélisande is a staid creature of placid demeanour and generous proportions. It had never occurred to me hitherto to associate her with rabies, and I still felt that she herself would scoff at the idea.
We were gathered round the fire, my wife, my daughter and I; Angela seated on what is known, I believe, in upholstering circles as a humpty, while Peggy lay on her tummy on the floor, pencil in hand and a sheet of paper before her; she was chewing the pencil with the ruminating air of one who awaits inspiration. I myself occupied the armchair.
"You know," said Angela presently, "I think Mélisande has seemed worried about something the last few days. I do hope the poor dear isn't bothering about rabies. One so often hears of people actually producing a disease merely by thinking a lot about it. By the way, I'm told that one of the earliest manifestations of rabies is a desire to bite inanimate objects; if we see her doing that we shall know that the time has come to act."