"Do you think your mamma would mind if I went upstairs to take off my
hat? I think my face must be dirty with the train," said Beata.
"Don't you like staying here?" said Rosy, rather crossly. "_I_
think you should stay till mother tells is to go," for she wanted to
hear what more her mother and the gentleman said to each other, the
very thing that made Beata uncomfortable.
Beata looked a little frightened.
"I didn't mean to be rude," she said. Then suddenly catching sight of
Manchon, she exclaimed, "Oh, what a beautiful cat! May I go and stroke
him?"
"If you like," said Rosy, "but he isn't _really_ a nice cat." And
then, seeing that Beata looked at her with curiosity, she forgot about
listening to the big people, and, getting up, led Beata to Manchon's
cushion.
"Everybody says he's pretty," she went on, "but I don't think so,
because _I_ think he's a kind of bad fairy. You don't know how he
froos sometimes, in a most horrible way, as if he was mocking you. He
knows I don't like him, for whenever I'm vexed he looks pleased."
"Does he really?" said Beata. "Then I don't like him. I shouldn't look
pleased if you were vexed, Rosy."
"Wouldn't you?" said Rosy, doubtfully.
"No, I'm sure I wouldn't. I wonder your mamma likes Manchon if he has
such an unkind dis--I can't remember the word, it means feelings, you
know."
"Never mind," said Rosy, patronisingly, "I know what you mean.
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