'Sweet!' said Auntie May, pegging away at her fancy work that she wants to get done.
I felt perfectly sick, and as if my inside was being pulled right out of me. I should have died if I couldn't have run away and hidden myself somewhere. Down, down went my tail, as we cats always put it when in trouble, and I crept under the Chesterfield sofa, wishing only that my ears had been smaller and did not let the sound in so much.
'I love the minor key,' said Auntie May, and then I knew what it was I disliked so much.
Presently there was a scrunch on the gravel outside; not a cart or trap scrunch, but a motor scrunch, which is quite different. Auntie May gave a pat to her hair, and Beatrice a tug to her skirt, and whispered to Auntie May in fun:
'Now mind you don't shock him, you wild London girl!'
Mrs. Gilmour must have heard the scrunch too, but she went on playing louder than ever, only jumping up with a little mew of surprise as the door opened and Barton announced: 'Mr. Fox.'
I could see Mr. Fox by lifting up the edge of the valance of the sofa with my nose, and I took a good look at him. He was very tall, and very dark-haired, and stooped a little. I dropped the edge of the valance again, for it was tiring, and I could tell things about him by using my ears—for instance, that he was a very shy man.
He was, of course, introduced to Auntie May, and for the rest of his visit he sat staring at her. I guessed this from the direction of his voice when he spoke. Mrs. Gilmour talked to him most, and all about the poor, and why they want a three-roomed cottage instead of a two-roomed one.
'I should think every family wanted a spare room,' said Auntie May, 'to stow their mother-in-law—or the cat.'
'Don't be flippant, May,' said Beatrice, and Mr. Fox seemed to be wriggling on his chair, for it creaked. I suppose he didn't like her to make fun of mothers-in-law; but if his was like Mrs. Gilmour, it would be difficult to help it.