"’Well, perhaps I’m not quite so naturally truthful as you are, dear,’ she said. ’I do not like her myself, but why should we show it? It’s so nice to be liked; and you never know when it may be to your advantage to make a friend, and I’m sure it is never any good to make an enemy. She might set some one against me whom I might really like. Besides, the truth is this--I cannot help it. Whenever I see a person, male or female, young or old, a distinct inclination comes over me to purr. I want them to take notice of me, and stroke my back; so if they do not start at once I’m obliged to rub softly against their feet, and let them know I require a caress. I read a book once about the transmigration of souls, or something of that kind, which said that people have been animals once. It’s rather a funny idea! I like to fancy what each person has passed through in a previous existence. I think I must have died an untimely death as a kitten, and have to work out the rest of the purring stage here.’ "’What do you think I looked like in the last stage?’ I asked. "’Oh, I think you were a fawn, and it is that which makes you shun that old spotted leopardess, so that you feel inclined to retire into the next cover, you poor little timid thing, hiding away even from your husband!’ "’Why, you don’t think I’m afraid of him,’ I asked, ’do you?’ "’Well, how can I tell? If I had a husband I rather fancy I should be wanting to have him handy. Wouldn’t I just make him wild about me! Of course I know how you feel, and the way he has acted. No doubt you are quite right; but I should want to make him sorry that he couldn’t take me in his arms; and shouldn’t I just make him jealous! Look at your position. Don’t I wish that I had your chances! He can’t come unless you let him, so you can do as you please; ask a lot of nice people to the house, and enjoy yourself. I should flirt a little perhaps! It’s wrong; but you know I don’t set up to be good, and I’m certain it would be impossible for me to resist the temptation. Then I’d take care to let him know all about it. Yes, dear, that would be the way to punish him--drive him mad with jealousy! You may be quite certain that he manages to find out all about your doings, and I call it just pampering him the way you go on. He knows you’re quite safe, no doubt. Mr. Sydney’s gone to India; you are shut up with your father and your school-friend, while he is free to enjoy himself, and knows that one day he will be forgiven, and can well afford to wait.’ "’He is quite mistaken if he thinks that, I can tell you!’ I answered rather angrily, being annoyed with the way she had put the case.