The Cat

by Violet Hunt

'Were taken, you mean.'

'Went to a play called Everyman, and I cried, and Auntie May cried, and Mr. What's-his-name cried. They both said it made them feel so wicked. It didn't make me feel wicked, only sad and hungry.'

'When I was in London,' said Rosamond, 'I went to see Henry Irving as Faust, and I had to go away to the very back of the box.'

'Why?' asked Kitty. 'Petticoat coming down, or sick?'

'No, neither, but because I was nervous.'

'Nervous! Pooh! It was because you were afraid of the devil, you said last time.'

'So I was, till I found out it was Sir Henry Irving, and then I liked him and came back to the front seat again, and fell in love with him—'

'Fell in love with the devil? How could you?'

'Everybody does in London.'

'Now, Amerye, you tell us some more about London,' begged Kitty, whose business it was to keep the balance true between them.