'That kind of cat wouldn't,' said Beverley. 'It isn't that breed.'

'I think it's a dear cat,' said Annette. She felt her temper, always
quick, getting the better of her. She knew just how incompetent
Sellers was, and it irritated her beyond endurance to see Beverley's
good-humoured acceptance of his patronage.

'At any rate,' said Beverley, with a grin, 'you both seem to recognize
that it is a cat. You're solid on that point, and that's something,
seeing I'm only a beginner.'

'I know, my dear fellow; I know,' said Sellers, graciously. 'You
mustn't let my criticism discourage you. Don't think that your work
lacks promise. Far from it. I am sure that in time you will do very
well indeed. Quite well.'

A cold glitter might have been observed in Annette's eyes.

'Mr Sellers,' she said, smoothly, 'had to work very hard himself before
he reached his present position. You know his work, of course?'

For the first time Beverley seemed somewhat confused.

'I--er--why--' he began.

'Oh, but of course you do,' she went on, sweetly. 'It's in all the
magazines.'

Beverley looked at the great man with admiration, and saw that he had
flushed uncomfortably. He put this down to the modesty of genius.