nd of mythology, the usual sources of
parallels, failed to provide a satisfactory resemblance to the cook's
temper.

'The temper of a Megaera,' said Merton, admitting to himself that the
word was not, though mythological, what he could wish.

'Of a Megaera as you know that creature, sir, and impetuous! If
everything is not handy, if that poor girl is not like clockwork with the
sauces, and herbs, and things, if a saucepan boils over, or a ham falls
into the fire, if the girl treads on the tail of one of the cats--and the
woman keeps a dozen--then she flies at her with anything that comes
handy.'

'She is fond of cats?' said Merton; 'really this lady has sympathetic
points:' and he patted the grey Russian puss, Kutuzoff, which was a
witness to these interviews.

'She dotes on the nasty things: and you may well say "lady!" Her Siamese
cat, a wild beast he is, took the first prize at the Crystal Palace Show.
The papers said "Miss Blowser's _Rangoon_, bred by the exhibitor." Miss
Blowser! I don't know what the world is coming to. He stands on the
doorsteps, the cat, like a lynx, and as fierce as a lion. Why he got her
into the police-court: flew at a dog, and nearly tore his owner, a
clergyman, to pieces. There were articles about it in the papers.'

'I seem to remember it,' said Merton. '_Christianos ad Leones_'. In
fact he had written this humorous article himself. 'But is there nothing
else?' he asked. 'Only a temper, so natural to genius disturbed or
diverted in the process of composition, and a passion for the _felidae_,
such as has often been remarked in the great. There was Charles
Baudelaire, Mahomet--'

'I don't know what you mean, sir, and,' said Mrs. Gisborne, rising, and
snapping her reticule, 'I think I was a fool for answering your
advertisement. I did not come here to be laughed at, and I think common
politeness--'

'I beg a thousand pardons,' said Merton. 'I am most distressed at my
apparent discourtesy. My mind was preoccupied by the circumstances of
this very difficult case, and involuntarily glided into literary anecdote
on the subject of cats and their owners. They are my passion--cats--and
I regret that they inspire you with antipathy.' Here he picked up
Kutuzoff and carried him into the inner room.

'It is not that I object to any of Heaven's creatures kept in their
place,' said Mrs. Gisborne somewhat mollified, 'but you must make
allowances, sir, for my anxiety. It sours a