‘Mrs. Uncle Paul,’ corrected Jonah, looking on with slight disapproval, and anxious to get to the white mice and the squirrel. ‘It would be a pity to change the name, I think,’ Paul said, straightening himself up dizzily from the introduction, and watching the splendid creature fall upon its head from Toby’s weakening grasp, and then march away with unperturbed dignity to its former throne upon the window-sill. ‘I feel rather afraid of Mrs. Tompkyns,’ he added; ‘she’s so very majestic.’ ‘Oh, you needn’t be,’ they cried in chorus. ‘It’s all put on, you know, that sort of grand manner. _We_ knew her when she was a kitten.’ The object-lesson was not lost upon him. Of all creatures in the world, he reflected as he watched her, cats have the truest dignity. They absolutely refuse to be laughed at. No cat would ever betray its real self, yet here was he, a grown-up, intelligent man, vacillating, and on the verge already of hopeless capitulation. ‘And what’s the name of _these_ persons?’ he asked quickly, turning for safety to Nixie, who had her arms full of a writhing heap she had been diligently collecting from the corners of the room. ‘Oh, that’s only Mrs. Tompkyns’ family,’ exclaimed Jonah impatiently; ‘the last family, I mean. She’s had lots of others.’ ‘The last family before this was only two,’ Nixie told him. ‘We called them Ping and Pong. They live in the stables now. But these we call Pouf, Sambo, Spritey, Zezette, and Dumps——’ ‘And the next ones,’ Toby broke in excitedly, ‘we’re going to call with the names on the engines when we go up to London to see the dentist.’ ‘Or the names of the Atlantic steamers wouldn’t be bad,’ said Paul. ‘Not bad,’ Jonah said, with lukewarm approval; ‘only the engines would be much better.’ ‘There may not be any next ones,’ opined Toby, emerging from beneath a sofa after a frantic, but vain, attempt to catch something alive. Jonah snorted with contempt. ‘Of course there will. They come in bunches all the time, just like grapes and chestnuts and things. Madmizelle told me so. There’s no end to them. Don’t they, Uncle Paul?’ ‘I believe so,’ said the authority appealed to, extracting his finger with difficulty from the teeth and claws of several kittens. There came a lull in the proceedings, the majority of the animals having escaped, and successfully concealed themselves among what Toby called ‘the furchinur.’ Paul was still following a prior train of reflection. ‘Yes, cats are really rather wonderful creatures,’ he mused aloud in spite of himself, turning instinctively in the direction of Nixie. ‘They possess a mysterious and superior kind of intelligence.’ For a moment it was exactly as if he had tapped his armour and said, ‘Look! It’s all sham!’