Beata looked a little frightened.

"I didn't mean to be rude," she said. Then suddenly catching sight of
Manchon, she exclaimed, "Oh, what a beautiful cat! May I go and stroke
him?"

"If you like," said Rosy, "but he isn't _really_ a nice cat." And
then, seeing that Beata looked at her with curiosity, she forgot about
listening to the big people, and, getting up, led Beata to Manchon's
cushion.

"Everybody says he's pretty," she went on, "but I don't think so,
because _I_ think he's a kind of bad fairy. You don't know how he
froos sometimes, in a most horrible way, as if he was mocking you. He
knows I don't like him, for whenever I'm vexed he looks pleased."

"Does he really?" said Beata. "Then I don't like him. I shouldn't look
pleased if you were vexed, Rosy."

"Wouldn't you?" said Rosy, doubtfully.

"No, I'm sure I wouldn't. I wonder your mamma likes Manchon if he has
such an unkind dis--I can't remember the word, it means feelings, you
know."

"Never mind," said Rosy, patronisingly, "I know what you mean. Oh, its
only _me_ Manchon's nasty to, and that doesn't matter. _I'm_
not the favourite. I _was_ at my aunty's though, that I was--but
it has all come true what Nelson told me," and she shook her head
dolefully.