“Look here,” says Tony, recoiling. “Here’s that horrible cat coming in!”
Mr. Guppy retreats behind a chair. “Small told me of her. She went leaping and bounding and tearing about that night like a dragon, and got out on the housetop, and roamed about up there for a fortnight, and then came tumbling down the chimney very thin. Did you ever see such a brute? Looks as if she knew all about it, don’t she? Almost looks as if she was Krook. Shoohoo! Get out, you goblin!”
Lady Jane, in the doorway, with her tiger snarl from ear to ear and her club of a tail, shows no intention of obeying; but Mr. Tulkinghorn stumbling over her, she spits at his rusty legs, and swearing wrathfully, takes her arched back upstairs. Possibly to roam the housetops again and return by the chimney.
“ Mr. Guppy,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, “could I have a word with you?”
Mr. Guppy is engaged in collecting the Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty from the wall and depositing those works of art in their old ignoble bandbox. “Sir,” he returns, reddening, “I wish to act with courtesy towards every member of the profession, and especially, I am sure, towards a member of it so well known as yourself—I will truly add, sir, so distinguished as yourself. Still, Mr. Tulkinghorn, sir, I must stipulate that if you have any word with me, that word is spoken in the presence of my friend.”
“Oh, indeed?” says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
“Yes, sir. My reasons are not of a personal nature at all, but they are amply sufficient for myself.”