'May, if your wretched cat is hidden under the sofa—hunt it out quick, or poor Mr. Fox will faint!'
'Please don't disturb your pet for me,' said poor Mr. Fox, politely. 'I had much better go. I am quite ashamed of myself.'
But meantime Auntie May had lifted up the valance of the sofa, and I had walked out, given Mr. Fox one look, and sought the door which Auntie May opened for me respectfully. No vulgar shooing for me! She followed me out and took me in her arms.
'Never mind, you sweet little innocent lamb that never did harm to any one. Never mind what the silly man says. Go and have tea in the schoolroom, and behave, and don't get schoolroom manners, please—remember you are a drawing-room cat, and behave as such.'
She opened the schoolroom door and shoved me in; she seemed in a great hurry to get back to the silly weak sort of man.
I knew what she meant by schoolroom manners. Nobody could behave better than Rosamond, Amerye, or Kitty sometimes. When they were allowed to have tea in the drawing-room they made it a point of honour to be quite different, but in the schoolroom they had an idea that it didn't matter. They clawed large chunky slices of bread off the plate and buttered them with the butter-knife up in the air, as they weren't allowed to do when Beatrice was there, and drank 'giant drinks' till their cups were empty, looking at each other over the rim all the while and trying not to end with a sputter, as a syphon does.
Kitty, the youngest child, was still shy about speaking when she was told to, though she could rattle away twenty to the dozen when not invited to give her opinion, or even when told to shut up.
This very day she gave us an example of her particular kind of obstinacy. She badly wanted some more cake and didn't want to ask politely for it, because that would be letting Fraülein know that she did want it.
Fraülein knew that. She said:
'Now, Kiddy'—that was the way she pronounced Kitty—'you can have that piece of cake as soon as you say, "Yes, please." Kiddy, do you want it?'