“‘Well, of all the curious coincidences,’ I exclaimed. ‘Why, Miss Ridley, it was I who advertised for a Persian cat — on Sue’s behalf. She and
Ismay have decided that they want a cat like Fatima
for themselves.’
“You should have seen how she beamed. She said she knew you always really liked cats, only you would never own up to it. We clinched the dicker then and there. I passed her over your hundred and ten dollars — she took the money without turning a hair — and now you are the joint owners of Fatima. Good luck to your bargain!”
“Mean old thing,” sniffed Ismay. She meant Aunt Cynthia, and, remembering our shabby furs, I didn’t disagree with her.
“But there is no Fatima,” I said, dubiously. “How shall we account for her when Aunt Cynthia comes home?”
“Well, your aunt isn’t coming home for a month yet. When she comes you will have to tell her that the cat — is lost — but you needn’t say when it happened. As for the rest, Fatima is your property now, so Aunt Cynthia can’t grumble. But she will have a poorer opinion than ever of your fitness to run a house alone.”
When Max left I went to the window to watch him down the path. He was really a handsome fellow, and I was proud of him. At the gate he turned to
