With less asperity Mr. Marrapit told her: “I cannot accept the blame. You wrap your meanings. I plunge and grope after them. Eluding me, I am compelled to believe them wilfully thrown. Strive to let your yea be yea and your nay nay. With circumspection proceed.” Mary gathered her emotion with a final little sniff. “I like ca-cats.” “I implore you not to accuse me of misunderstanding you. A question is essential. You do not always pronounce 'cats' in two syllables?” “Oh, no.” “Satisfactory. You said 'ca-cats.' Doubtless under stress of emotion. Proceed.” Mary sniffed; proceeded. “I like ca-cats--cats. If you were to engage me I am sure your cats would take to me.” “I admit the possibility. I like your appearance. I like your voice. Had you knowledge of the acute supersensitiveness of my cats you would understand that they will appreciate those points. I do not require in you veterinary knowledge; I require sympathetic traits. I do not engage you to nurse my cats--though, should mischance befall, that would come within your duties,--but to be their companion, their friend. You are a lady; themselves ancestral they will appreciate that. I understand you are an orphan; there also a bond links you with them. All cats are orphans. It is the sole unfortunate trait of their characters that they are prone to forget their offspring. In so far as it is possible to correct this failing amongst my own cats, I have done my best. Amongst them the sanctity of the marriage tie is strictly observed. The word stud is peculiarly abhorrent to me. Polygamy is odious. There is a final point. Pray seat yourself.” Mary took a chair. Mr. Marrapit, standing before her, gazed down upon her. From her left he gazed, then from her right. He returned to the fireplace. “It is satisfactory,” he said. “You have a nice lap. That is of first importance. The question of wages has been settled. Arrive to-morrow. You are engaged.” BOOK V. Of Mr. Marrapit upon the Rack: of George in Torment. CHAPTER I. Prosiness Upon Events: So Uneventful That It Should Be Skipped. If we write that Mary's first month at Herons' Holt was uneventful, we use the term as a figure of speech that must be taken in its accepted sense; not read literally. For it is impossible that life, in whatever conditions, can be eventless. The dullest life is often with events the most crowded. In dulness we are thrown back upon our inner selves, and that inner self is of a construction so sensitive that each lightest thought is an event that leaves an impression. In action, in gaiety, in intercourse we put out an unnatural self to brunt the beat of events. We are upon our guard. There are eyes watching us, and from their gaze we by instinct fend our inner self just as by instinct we fend our nakedness.