"I'm fonder of bigger animals," she said. "I was born among them.
My father was a lion tamer, so I know all the ways of beasts. I love
bears--I once trained one to drive a cart--but"--with a sigh--"you can't
keep bears in Cadogan Gardens."

"You may get hold of a human one now and then," said Dale.

"I've no doubt Madame Brandt could train him to dance to whatever tune
she played," said I.

She turned her dark golden eyes lazily, slumberously on me.

"Why do you say that, Mr. de Gex?"

This was disconcerting. Why had I said it? For no particular reason,
save to keep up a commonplace conversation in which I took no absorbing
interest. It was a direct challenge. Young Dale stopped playing with the
Chow dog and grinned. It behooved me to say something. I said it with a
bow and a wave of my hand:

"Because, though your father was a lion-tamer, your mother was a woman."

She appeared to reflect for a moment; then addressing Dale:

"The answer doesn't amount to a ha'porth of cats'-meat, but you couldn't
have got out of it like that."

I was again disconcerted, but I remarked that he would learn in time
when my mentorship was over and I handed him, a finished product, to
society.