“But why did you look at me so?” she insisted. “Surely something has gone amiss. Aren’t the servants coming? If they are not, I am not entirely useless; I can even cook,” and she laughed again, an embarrassed laugh I thought.
She had the manner of having been surprised by my entrance, of being detected in something, secret or hidden, which she was now trying to cover up and conceal.
“Why,” I stammered confusedly, for this remarkable resemblance had thrown me quite off my feet, “nothing is wrong. Only I was suddenly struck, as you stood there by the portrait of my grandmother’s cat, by the remarkable resemblance; your hair, your eyes—the same color. That was all.”
“Why, Robert!” she laughed, holding up an admonishing finger.
This time I was sure of the note of confusion in her laugh, which seemed forced. My wife was not given to laughter, being a quiet, self-contained sort of person.
“Imagine! I, like a cat!”
“Well,” I said lightly, gathering her in my arms—for I, too, was dissembling, now that I had regained my self-possession and saw that I was betraying my secret fear—“Toi Wah was a very beautiful and high-bred cat. Her ancestry dated back to Ghengis Khan. So to resemble her would not be so bad, would it?” And I kissed her.
Did she shrink from the caress? Did her body tremble in my arms? Or was it imagination, the stirring of old memories of Toi Wah, who shrank from my lightest touch?
I did not know. I do know, however, that my strange experience on that day was the beginning of the end; the end that is not yet, but is swiftly on the way—for me!