sat down on the mignonette Harriett sent a note round by Maggie: "Miss
Frean presents her compliments to the lady next door and would be glad if
she would restrain her cat."

Five minutes later the pretty girl appeared with the cat in her arms.

"I've brought Mimi," she said. "I want you to see what a darling he is."

Mimi, a Persian, all orange on the top and snow white underneath, climbed
her breast to hang flattened out against her shoulder, long, the great
plume of his tail fanning her. She swung round to show the innocence of
his amber eyes and the pink arch of his mouth supporting his pink nose.

"I want you to see my mignonette," said Harriett. They stood together by
the crushed ring where Mimi had made his bed.

The pretty girl said she was sorry. "But, you see, we _can't_
restrain him. I don't know what's to be done.... Unless you kept a cat
yourself; then you won't mind."

"But," Harriett said, "I don't like cats."

"Oh, why not?"

Harriett knew why. A cat was a compromise, a substitute, a subterfuge. Her
pride couldn't stoop. She was afraid of Mimi, of his enchanting play, and
the soft white fur of his stomach. Maggie's baby. So she said, "Because
they destroy the beds. And they kill birds."

The pretty girl's chin burrowed in Mimi's neck. "You _won't_ throw