’I beg your pardon, sir, but I will say that your heart does not seem to be in the case.’

‘It is not quite the kind of case with which we are accustomed to deal,’ said Merton.  ’But you have not answered my question.  Are there any weak points in the defence?  To Venus she is cold, of Bacchus she is disdainful.’

’I never heard of the gentlemen I am sure, sir, but as to her weaknesses, she has the temper of a—­’ Here Mrs. Gisborne paused for a comparison.  Her knowledge of natural history and of mythology, the usual sources of parallels, failed to provide a satisfactory resemblance to the cook’s temper.

‘The temper of a Megaera,’ said Merton, admitting to himself that the word was not, though mythological, what he could wish.

’Of a Megaera as you know that creature, sir, and impetuous!  If everything is not handy, if that poor girl is not like clockwork with the sauces, and herbs, and things, if a saucepan boils over, or a ham falls into the fire, if the girl treads on the tail of one of the cats—­and the woman keeps a dozen—­then she flies at her with anything that comes handy.’

‘She is fond of cats?’ said Merton; ’really this lady has sympathetic points:’  and he patted the grey Russian puss, Kutuzoff, which was a witness to these interviews.

’She dotes on the nasty things:  and you may well say “lady!” Her Siamese cat, a wild beast he is, took the first prize at the Crystal Palace Show.  The papers said “Miss Blowser’s Rangoon, bred by the exhibitor.”  Miss Blowser!  I don’t know what the world is coming to.  He stands on the doorsteps, the cat, like a lynx, and as fierce as a lion.  Why he got her into the police-court:  flew at a dog, and nearly tore his owner, a clergyman, to pieces.  There were articles about it in the papers.’

‘I seem to remember it,’ said Merton. ‘Christianos ad Leones’.  In fact he had written this humorous article himself.  ’But is there nothing else?’ he asked.  ’Only a temper, so natural to genius disturbed or diverted in the process of composition, and a passion for the felidae, such as has often been remarked in the great.  There was Charles Baudelaire, Mahomet—­’

‘I don’t know what you mean, sir, and,’ said Mrs. Gisborne, rising, and snapping her reticule, ’I think I was a fool for answering your advertisement.  I did not come here to be laughed at, and I think common politeness—­’

‘I beg a thousand pardons,’ said Merton.  ’I am most distressed at my apparent discourtesy.  My mind was preoccupied by the circumstances of this very difficult case, and involuntarily glided into literary anecdote on the subject of cats and their owners.  They are my passion—­cats—­and I regret that they inspire you with antipathy.’  Here he picked up Kutuzoff and carried him into the inner room.

’It is not that I object to any of Heaven’s creatures kept in their place,’ said Mrs. Gisborne somewhat mollified, ’but you must make allowances, sir, for my anxiety.  It sours a mother of nine.  Friday is one of his gorging dinner-parties, and who knows what may happen if she pleases him?  The kitchen maid says, I mean I hear, that she wears an engaged ring already.’