The Cat

by Violet Hunt

'Why not try Folkestone with your Aunt Cecilia?'

'An old cat!'

'What about Mrs. Gilmour at Bournemouth?'

'Another!' It was easy to see she was ill.

'Then come with me to the Riviera?'

'That would be lovely, but, dear Daddy, I could not possibly take you away from your Academy picture.'

'Then,' said the poor old man in desperation, 'go to America and read passages from your own works and make a fortune.'

He was at his wit's end or he would not have proposed anything so absurd and improper as that. He said no more, but I sometimes saw him watching her with tears in his eyes.

When her hair began to come out in handfuls she herself agreed that something must be done.

'I think I will go and live in Paris for a bit and study.'