Antoinette who came to demand permission to keep a cat.

"What kind of a cat?" I asked.

"Perhaps Monsieur does not like cats?" she inquired, anxiously.

"The cat was worshipped as a god by the ancient Egyptians," I
remarked.

"But this one, Monsieur," she said in breathless reassurance,
"has only one eye."

I would sooner talk to Antoinette than the tutorial staff of
Girton. If she woke up one morning and found she had a mind she
would think it a disease.

In the afternoon I strolled into Regent's Park and meeting the
McMurray's nine-year-old son in charge of the housemaid, around
whom seemed to be hovering a sheepish individual in a bowler hat,
I took him off to the Zoological Gardens. On the way he told me,
with great glee, that his German governess was in bed with an
awful sore throat; that he wasn't doing any lessons; that the
sheepish hoverer was Milly's young man, and that the silly way
they went on was enough to make one sick. When he had fed
everything feedable and ridden everything ridable, I drove him to
the Wellington Road and deposited him with his parents. I love a
couple of hours with a child when it is thoroughly happy and on
its best behaviour. And the enjoyment is enhanced by the feeling
of utter thankfulness that he is not my child, but somebody
else's.