rebuke. "Mr. Boffin is not an ordinary cat. He is a gentleman and a
scholar and he never forgets his manners."

"I've wondered, sometimes," said Rose, "whether he really knows
everything, or only pretends that he does. He looks very wise."

"Silence and reserve will give anyone a reputation for wisdom," Madame
responded. She bent down to stroke the yellow head, but, though Mr.
Boffin gratefully accepted the caress, he did not condescend to purr.
Presently he stalked away into the shadows, waving his yellow tail.

"What a lovely room this is," observed Isabel, after a pause.

"It's comfortable," replied Madame. "I couldn't live in an ugly place."

Everything in the room spoke eloquently of good taste, from the deep-
toned Eastern rug at the hearth to the pictures upon the grey-green
walls. There was not a false note anywhere in the subtle harmony of
line, colour, and fabric. It was the sort of room that one comes back
to, after long absence, with renewed appreciation.

"I love old mahogany," continued Isabel. "I suppose you've had this a
long, long time."

"No, it's new. To me--I mean. I have some beautiful old French mahogany,
but I don't use it."

Her voice was very low at the end of the sentence. She compressed her
lips tightly and, leaning forward, vigorously poked the fire. A stream
of sparks went up the chimney and quick flames leaped to follow.