brute of a cyclist."

"Was he killed?" asked Rachel.

But Clarissa at her end of the table had overheard.

"Don't talk of it!" she cried. "It's a thing I can't bear to think of to
this day."

Surely the tears stood in her eyes?

"That's the painful thing about pets," said Mr. Dalloway; "they die. The
first sorrow I can remember was for the death of a dormouse. I regret to
say that I sat upon it. Still, that didn't make one any the less sorry.
Here lies the duck that Samuel Johnson sat on, eh? I was big for my
age."

"Then we had canaries," he continued, "a pair of ring-doves, a lemur,
and at one time a martin."

"Did you live in the country?" Rachel asked him.

"We lived in the country for six months of the year. When I say 'we' I
mean four sisters, a brother, and myself. There's nothing like coming of
a large family. Sisters particularly are delightful."

"Dick, you were horribly spoilt!" cried Clarissa across the table.

"No, no. Appreciated," said Richard.