My Sister Celia
Page 19
“Ada, you’re psychic!” declared her master admiringly.
“No, sir. Just observant,” Ada replied. “And, if it wouldn’t be out of place to offer my congratulations—”
“Offer them all round, my dear girl,” said Larry genially, thus bringing a blush of mingled embarrassment and gratification to Ada’s slightly withered cheek. “We’re all engaged. It only remains to tell you which has chosen which.”
“I know that, sir.”
“You do?” Larry looked admiringly again, and Brian murmured,
“That’s more than we did, an hour or two ago.”
“Observation again?” enquired Larry good-humouredly.
“Yes, sir. And, if I may say so, Miss Clumber would be pleased.”
“I suppose she would.” Larry rubbed his chin, and grinned in a reflective, lightly moved way.
“And another odd thing, sir.” Ada went over and opened the door into the passage, and in stalked a small, confident-looking kitten, its tail erect, its disproportionately loud purr announcing its certainty of a welcome. “If that’s not the spit and image of Belshazzar, my name’s not Ada Dawkins.”
“I say!” Larry was visibly impressed, while both girls fell on their knees and began to make enticing noises to the kitten.
For a second only did the kitten hesitate. Then he rushed towards Freda and began to rub against her with signs of extravagant approval.
“He’s just like a tiny Belshazzar,” cried Freda. “He must be a great-great-grandson or something. Wherever did he come from?”
“That I wouldn’t know, Miss Freda,” said Ada in a mysterious sort of tone. “I can only tell you that he came crying round the back door two days ago, and nothing would persuade him that this wasn’t his home.”
“Intelligent little blighter.” Larry went over and tickled the kitten under the chin, and at the same time took the opportunity of dropping a kiss on Freda’s hair.
“He’s a stray, I suppose,” observed Brian sympathetically.
But Ada took coldly to this idea, and glanced at Brian as though she found him a slightly lesser man than she had at first supposed.
“That might be, sir,” she admitted, but with great reserve. “But cats are strange creatures. They sometimes know things before we do.”
“What do you mean, Ada?” enquired Celia from her comfortable perch on the arm of Brian’s chair.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, miss, he knew which of you was Miss Freda, alike as peas though you are—and as pretty as pictures,” she added indulgently. “It’s my belief he knew Crowmain Court was going to have a mistress again, and all the place needed was a cat to complete things.”
Upon which confident statement, she made an excellent exit, leaving the others to drink a toast to their happiness and to Belshazzar the Second.
THE END