THE SIAMESE CAT
was worth all the dangers he had passed, became by daylight the palest mockery and dream; for that afternoon, as he walked with Laura, it did not in the least encourage or avail him. Their ship was to sail next morning; Aunt Julia was despatching a multitude of letters; they had shared half the bright day. He had unfolded the full history of Chao Phya and the lost ruby of Burmah; the cat himself now trotted with them along the Quai François Joseph, as they gave him, with fluctuating success, his first lesson in following to heel; nothing remained for Owen but to tell his own story: yet the sun was drawing down behind Lake Menzaleh, and still their talk idled in generalities. Never, of any one in his life before, had he been so afraid.
They loitered out on the long breakwater, and passed beside the pedestal on which the bronze de Lesseps, stiff and commonplace,
[ 220 ]
