e social atmosphere. For a vague
rumour of the chatter of the town had penetrated the house, and the
ladies Ebag, though they scorned chatter, were affected by it; Carl
Ullman, too. It had the customary effect of such chatter; it fixed the
thoughts of those chatted about on matters which perhaps would not
otherwise have occupied their attention.

The ladies Ebag said to themselves: "We are no longer aged nineteen. We
are moreover living with our father. If he is bedridden, what then? This
gossip connecting our names with that of Mr Ullman is worse than
baseless; it is preposterous. We assert positively that we have no
designs of any kind on Mr Ullman."

Nevertheless, by dint of thinking about that gossip, the naked idea of a
marriage with Mr Ullman soon ceased to shock them. They could gaze at it
without going into hysterics.

As for Carl, he often meditated upon his own age, which might have been
anything between thirty and forty-five, and upon the mysterious ages of
the ladies, and upon their goodness, their charm, their seriousness,
their intelligence and their sympathy with himself.

Hence the self-consciousness in the gloaming.

To create a diversion Miss Ebag walked primly to the window and cried:

"Goldie! Goldie!"

It was Goldie's bedtime. In summer he always strolled into the garden
after dinner, and he nearly always sensibly responded to the call when
his bed-hour sounded. No one would have dreamed of retiring until Goldie
was safely ensconced in his large basket under the stairs.

"Naughty Goldie!" Miss Ebag said, comprehensively, to the garden.

She went into the garden to search, and Mrs Ebag followed her, and Carl
Ullman followed Mrs Ebag. And they searched without result, until it was
black night and the threatening storm at last fell. The vision of Goldie
out in that storm desolated the ladies, and Carl Ullman displayed the
nicest feeling. At length the rain drove them in and they stood in the
drawing-room with anxious faces, while two servants, under directions
from Carl, searched the house for Goldie.

"If you please'm," stammered the housemaid, rushing rather
unconventionally into the drawing-room, "cook says she thinks Goldie
must be on the roof, in the vane."

"On the roof in the vane?" exclaimed Mrs Ebag, pale. "In the vane?"

"Yes'm."

"Whatever do you mean, Sarah?" asked Miss Ebag, even paler.

The ladies Ebag were utterly convinced that Goldie was not like other
cats, that he ne