"Why--how do you mean, Phil? What sort of man? He's a banker. He isn't very pretty, but he's popular." "Oh, popular!" he nodded, as close to a sneer as he could ever get. "He has a very popular wife, too; haven't you met Rosamund? People like him; he's about everywhere--very useful, very devoted to pretty women; but I'm really in a hurry, Phil. Won't you please explain to Eileen that I couldn't wait? You and she were almost an hour late. Now I must pick up my skirts and fly, or there'll be some indignant dowagers downtown. . . . Good-bye, dear. . . . And _don't_ let the children eat too fast! Make Drina take thirty-six chews to every bite; and Winthrop is to have no bread if he has potatoes--" Her voice dwindled and died, away through the hall; the front door clanged. He went to his quarters, drove out Austin's man, arranged his own fresh linen, took a sulky plunge; and, an unlighted cigarette between his teeth, completed his dressing in sullen introspection. When he had tied his scarf and bitten his cigarette to pieces, he paced the room once or twice, squared his shoulders, breathed deeply, and, unbending his eyebrows, walked off to the nursery. "Hello, you kids!" he said, with an effort. "I've come to luncheon. Very nice of you to want me, Drina." "I wanted you, too!" said Billy; "I'm to sit beside you--" "So am I," observed Drina, pushing Winthrop out of the chair and sliding in close to Selwyn. She had the cat, Kit-Ki, in her arms. Kit-Ki, divining nourishment, was purring loudly. Josephine and Clemence, in pinafores and stickout skirts, sat wriggling, with Winthrop between them; the five dogs sat in a row behind; Katie and Bridget assumed the functions of Hibernian Hebes; and luncheon began with a clatter of spoons. It being also the children's dinner--supper and bed occurring from five to six--meat figured on the card, and Kit-Ki's purring increased to an ecstatic and wheezy squeal, and her rigid tail, as she stood up on Drina's lap, was constantly brushing Selwyn's features. "The cat is shedding, too," he remarked, as he dodged her caudal appendage for the twentieth time; "it will go in with the next spoonful, Drina, if you're not careful about opening your mouth." "I love Kit-Ki," said Drina placidly. "I have written a poem to her--where is it?--hand it to me, Bridget." And, laying down her fork and crossing her bare legs under the table, Drina took breath and read rapidly: "LINES TO MY CAT "Why Do I love Kit-Ki And run after Her with laughter And rub her fur So she will purr? Why do I know That Kit-Ki loves me so? I know it if Her tail stands up stiff And she beguiles Me with smiles--" "Huh!" said Billy, "cats don't smile!" "They do. When they look pleasant they smile," said Drina, and continued reading from her own works: