'Oh, a very nice man who has taken Shortleas this year. I don't know where he comes from--London, I suppose--but I met him somewhere before I was ill and found we were neighbours--if you call five miles apart neighbours--and thought we might as well be civil to him. I asked him to tea while you were here--I thought perhaps he might like to meet a London authoress.' Auntie May looked cross, as she always does when they talk of her books, which she doesn't think much of, only they bring her pocket money, and as Mr. Graham is always spending his on old silver and enamel, it is important to her. Then as it was still quite early, and Mr. Fox wasn't likely to come till tea-time, Beatrice civilly asked Mrs. Gilmour to play something to us. Mrs. Gilmour said she wouldn't, at first, but Beatrice worried her to do it, knowing that she meant to in the end, and at last the old lady opened the instrument, as she called it, and began. In all my life I never heard anything like it! The old thing's gnarled fingers hopped and skipped and jumped and rattled about like hailstones, and the notes bobbed up under them as if they were alive. I longed to catch them, but I dared not go any nearer to the terrible noise. 'Lovely!' murmured Beatrice, closing her eyes. 'Sweet!' said Auntie May, pegging away at her fancy work that she wants to get done. I felt perfectly sick, and as if my inside was being pulled right out of me. I should have died if I couldn't have run away and hidden myself somewhere. Down, down went my tail, as we cats always put it when in trouble, and I crept under the Chesterfield sofa, wishing only that my ears had been smaller and did not let the sound in so much. 'I love the minor key,' said Auntie May, and then I knew what it was _I_ disliked so much. Presently there was a scrunch on the gravel outside; not a cart or trap scrunch, but a motor scrunch, which is quite different. Auntie May gave a pat to her hair, and Beatrice a tug to her skirt, and whispered to Auntie May in fun: 'Now mind you don't shock him, you wild London girl!' Mrs. Gilmour must have heard the scrunch too, but she went on playing louder than ever, only jumping up with a little mew of surprise as the door opened and Barton announced: 'Mr. Fox.' I could see Mr. Fox by lifting up the edge of the valance of the sofa with my nose, and I took a good look at him. He was very tall, and very dark-haired, and stooped a little. I dropped the edge of the valance again, for it was tiring, and I could tell things about him by using my ears--for instance, that he was a very shy man. He was, of course, introduced to Auntie May, and for the rest of his visit he sat staring at her. I guessed this from the direction of his voice when he spoke. Mrs. Gilmour talked to him most, and all about the poor, and why they want a three-roomed cottage instead of a two-roomed one. 'I should think every family wanted a spare room,' said Auntie May, 'to stow their mother-in-law--or the cat.'