Poor Mr. Fox turned bright red, not pale as he generally does in the presence of a cat, and said:
'Behind—did you say?'
'Behind me—that is, if you take me away—'
When Auntie May said that, in a little voice, it seemed to please Mr. Fox very much, though it was a simple enough thing to say. They sat down on a sofa together and talked, and I thought it a good opportunity to make finally for the door.
Unfortunately one of the pictures against the wall was stood up too straight, and when I came out from behind it it fell down with a clatter. Auntie May got up and came to where I was, and when she saw me she gave a little jump, and put her finger to her mouth and went back to Mr. Fox.
'Henry,' she said, 'how do you feel?'
'I never felt better in my life, dear,' he answered. 'Since you gave me your promise the whole air of the world seems changed. I could move mountains, I feel so fit—'
'Yet the air of the studio,' she said, 'is not particularly pure. The smell of paint rags, and varnishes, and stale tobacco, and cats—'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean that my beloved Loki has been here in the room with you for the last half-hour, and yet you have been praising the purity of the air and exulting in your "fitness." Oh, Henry, perhaps you have got over it?—say you have! Then I shall be quite happy!'