“Why?” asked Florence.

“Because they’re very rare cats, and you aren’t ordinarily a very careful sort of person, Florence, if you don’t mind my saying so.  Besides, if I let you go near them, the next thing Herbert would be over here mussing around, and he can’t go near anything without ruining it!  It’s just in him; he can’t help it.”

Florence looked thoughtful for a brief moment; then she asked:  “Did Newland Sanders send ’em with the names already to them?”

“No,” said Julia, emphasizing the patience of her tone somewhat.  “I named them after they got here.  Mr. Sanders hasn’t seen them yet.  He had them shipped to me.  He’s coming this evening.  Anything more to-day, Florence?”

“Well, I was thinking,” said Florence.  “What do you think grandpa’ll think about these cats?”

“I don’t believe there’ll be any more outrages,” Julia returned, and her dark eyes showed a moment’s animation.  “I told him at breakfast that the Reign of Terror was ended, and he and everybody else had to keep away from Fifi and Mimi.  Is that about all, Florence?”

“You let Kitty Silver go near ’em, though.  She says she’s fixing to wash ’em.”

Julia smiled faintly.  “I thought she would!  I had to go so far as to tell her that as long as I’m housekeeper in my father’s house she’d do what I say or find some other place.  She behaved outrageously and pretended to believe the natural colour of Fifi and Mimi is gray!”

“I expect,” said Florence, after pondering seriously for a little while—­“I expect it would take quite some time to dry them.”

“No doubt.  But I’d rather you didn’t assist.  I’d rather you weren’t even around looking on, Florence.”

A shade fell upon her niece’s face at this.  “Why, Aunt Julia, I couldn’t do any harm to Fifi and Mimi just lookin’ at ’em, could I?”

Julia laughed.  “That’s the trouble; you never do ‘just look’ at anything you’re interested in, and, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’ve got rather a record, dear!  Now, don’t you care:  you can find lots of other pleasant things to do at home—­or over at Herbert’s, or Aunt Fanny’s.  You run along now and——­”

“Well——­” Florence said, moving as if to depart.

“You might as well go out by the front door, child,” Julia suggested, with a little watchful urgency.  “You come over some day when Fifi and Mimi have got used to the place, and you can look at them all you want to.”

“Well, I just——­”

But as Florence seemed disposed still to linger, her aunt’s manner became more severe, and she half rose from her reclining position.

“No, I really mean it!  Fifi and Mimi are royal-bred Persian cats with a wonderful pedigree, and I don’t know how much trouble and expense it cost Mr. Sanders to get them for me.  They’re entirely different from ordinary cats; they’re very fine and queer, and if anything happens to them, after all the trouble papa’s made over other presents I’ve had, I’ll go straight to a sanitarium!  No, Florence, you keep away from the kitchen to-day, and I’d like to hear the front door as you go out.”