aned forward,
regarding her with wonder. She lowered herself and turned and crept to the
window. There she lifted herself a little and patted the tassel which hung
from the blind. She continued this with a certain sedateness and
concentration until the tassel went beyond her reach and caught in the
curtain. Then she let herself down again, and crawled to the middle of the
floor. Now she was on her knees, her hands on the floor before her, her
body as erect as she could hold it. Again she _meowed_--this time with a
certain ennui; and finally she raised one arm and rubbed it slowly to and
fro behind her ear.... She quickly assumed a defensive attitude, crouching
fiercely. An imaginary dog had crossed her path. She made an explosive
sound with her lips. She regained her tranquillity, staring with slowly
returning complacency and contempt while the imaginary dog disappeared.

Harboro did not speak. He looked on in amazed silence to see what she
would do next. His swarthy face was too sphinx-like to express pleasure,
yet he was not displeased. He was thinking: She is a child--but what an
extraordinary child!

She crawled toward him and leaned against his leg. _She was purring!_

Harboro stooped low to see how she did it, but her hair hid her lips from
him.

He seized her beneath the arms and lifted her until her face was on a
level with his. He regarded her almost uncomfortably.

"Don't you like me to be a kitten?" She adjusted her knees on his lap and
rested her hands on his shoulders. She regarded him gravely.

"Well ... a kitten gets to be a cat," he suggested.

She pulled one end of his long mustache, regarding him intently. "Oh, a
cat. But this is a different kind of a kitten entirely. It's got nothing
to do with cats." She held her head on one side and pulled his mustache
slowly through her fingers. "It won't curl," she said.

"No, I'm not the curly sort of man."

She considered that. It seemed to present an idea that was new to her.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're a big fellow."

As he did not respond to this, she went on: "Those little shrimps--you
couldn't be a kitten with them. They would have to be puppies. That's the
only fun you could have."

"Sylvia!" he remonstrated. He adjusted her so that she sat on his lap,
with her face against his throat. He was recalling that other Sylvia: the
Sylvia of the dining-room, of the balcony; the circumspect, sensible,
comprehending Sylvia. But the discoveries he was makin