You never knew when Aunt Charlotte mightn't send something. She forgot your birthday and sometimes Christmas; but, to make up for that, she remembered in between. Every time she was going to be married she remembered. Sarah the cat came too long after Mark's twelfth birthday to be his birthday present. There was no message with her except that Aunt Charlotte was going to be married and didn't want her any more. Whenever Aunt Charlotte was going to be married she sent you something she didn't want. Sarah was a white cat with a pink nose and pink lips and pink pads under her paws. Her tabby hood came down in a peak between her green eyes. Her tabby cape went on along the back of her tail, tapering to the tip. Sarah crouched against the fireguard, her haunches raised, her head sunk back on her shoulders, and her paws tucked in under her white, pouting breast. Mark stooped over her; his mouth smiled its small, firm smile; his eyes shone as he stroked her. Sarah raised her haunches under the caressing hand. Mary's body was still. Something stirred and tightened in it when she looked at Sarah. "I want Sarah," she said. "You can't have her," said Jenny. "She's Master Mark's cat." She wanted her more than Roddy's bricks and Dank's animal book or Mark's soldiers. She trembled when she held her in her arms and kissed her and smelt the warm, sweet, sleepy smell that came from the top of her head. "Little girls can't have everything they want," said Jenny. "I wanted her before you did," said Dank. "You're too little to have a cat at all." He sat on the table swinging his legs. His dark, mournful eyes watched Mark under their doggy scowl. He looked like Tibby, the terrier that Mamma sent away because Papa teased him. "Sarah isn't your cat either, Master Daniel. Your Aunt Charlotte gave her to your Mamma, and your Mamma gave her to Master Mark." "She ought to have given her to me. She took my dog away." "_I_ gave her to you," said Mark. "And I gave her to you back again." "Well then, she's half our cat." "I want her," said Mary. She said it again and again. Mamma came and took her into the room with the big bed. The gas blazed in the white globes. Lovely white lights washed like water over the polished yellow furniture: the bed, the great high wardrobe, the chests of drawers, the twisted poles of the looking-glass. There were soft rounds and edges of blond light on the white marble chimney-piece and the white marble washstand. The drawn curtains were covered with shining silver patterns on a sleek green ground that shone. All these things showed again in the long, flashing mirrors. Mary looked round the room and wondered why the squat grey men had gone out of the curtains. "Don't look about you," said Mamma. "Look at me. Why do you want Sarah?" She had forgotten Sarah. "Because," she said, "Sarah is so sweet."