put out her hand timidly towards its tail. He
gently put it on the other side, and looked at her. It was not an angry
look nor an offended look. It was the expression with which Solomon
might have received the advances of the Queen of Sheba. It expressed
condescension, combined with distance.

He was really a most gentlemanly cat. A friend of mine, who believes in
the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, was convinced that he was
Lord Chesterfield. He never clamoured for food, as other cats do. He
would sit beside me at meals, and wait till he was served. He would eat
only the knuckle-end of a leg of mutton, and would never look at over-
done beef. A visitor of ours once offered him a piece of gristle; he
said nothing, but quietly left the room, and we did not see him again
until our friend had departed.

But every one has his price, and Thomas Henry's price was roast duck.
Thomas Henry's attitude in the presence of roast duck came to me as a
psychological revelation. It showed me at once the lower and more animal
side of his nature. In the presence of roast duck Thomas Henry became
simply and merely a cat, swayed by all the savage instincts of his race.
His dignity fell from him as a cloak. He clawed for roast duck, he
grovelled for it. I believe he would have sold himself to the devil for
roast duck.

We accordingly avoided that particular dish: it was painful to see a
cat's character so completely demoralised. Besides, his manners, when
roast duck was on the table, afforded a bad example to the children.

He was a shining light among all the eats of our neighbourhood. One
might have set one's watch by his movements. After dinner he invariably
took half an hour's constitutional in the square; at ten o'clock each
night, precisely, he returned to the area door, and at eleven o'clock he
was asleep in my easy chair. He made no friends among the other cats. He
took no pleasure in fighting, and I doubt his ever having loved, even in
youth; his was too cold and self-contained a nature, female society he
regarded with utter indifference.

So he lived with us a blameless existence during the whole winter. In
the summer we took him down with us into the country. We thought the
change of air would do him good; he was getting decidedly stout. Alas,
poor Thomas Henry! the country was his ruin. What brought about the
change I cannot say: maybe the air was too bracing. He slid down the
moral incline w