“Of course.”
“Why have n't we seen them?”
“They roar dreadfully, and they're rather fierce and terrible, Stellamaris.”
“Are you afraid of them?”
He noted the feminine, quasi-logical touch of scorn, and laughed with a wry face.
“They 're behind bars, dear. But I thought they might possibly frighten you.”
“Frighten me? Let us go and see them.”
So, seeing that Stellamaris was a young woman of intrepid and imperious disposition, Herold dutifully took her to the Great Cat's House, where again the child in her was enraptured by the splendour of the striped and tawny brutes. She lingered in front of the lion's cage. The four-o'clock meal was over. The lioness lay asleep in the corner, but her mate sat up, with his head near to the bars, an enormous, cleaned bone between his paws. The absurd and useless animal had struck a photographic pose at which Herold, with a more sophisticated companion, would have laughed. But Stellamaris took the lion too seriously. He fulfilled all her dreams of a lion. She looked in breathless admiration at the lion, and the lion, choke-full of food, regarded her with grave benevolence. Again she pressed Herold's arm.
“How noble! How kingly!”
He assented. The lion was certainly doing his best to warrant the impression.