'Good Lord!' said Beverley, blankly.

'I'm a cat! I'm a beast! I hate myself!'

'Good Lord!' said Beverley, blankly.

'I'm a pig! I'm a fiend!'

'Good Lord!' said Beverley, blankly.

'We're all struggling and trying to get on and having hard luck, and
instead of doing what I can to help, I go and t-t-taunt him with not
being able to sell his pictures! I'm not fit to live! _Oh!_'

'Good Lord!' said Beverley, blankly.

A series of gulping sobs followed, diminishing by degrees into silence.
Presently she looked up and smiled, a moist and pathetic smile.

'I'm sorry,' she said, 'for being so stupid. But he was so horrid and
patronizing to you, I couldn't help scratching. I believe I'm the worst
cat in London.'

'No, this is,' said Beverley, pointing to the canvas. 'At least,
according to the late Sellers. But, I say, tell me, isn't the deceased
a great artist, then? He came curveting in here with his chest out and
started to slate my masterpiece, so I naturally said, "What-ho! 'Tis a
genius!" Isn't he?'