A Vicious Circle

ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE INSTINCT OF THE CAT AND OF THE DOG.

ADY VERMOISE did not ask Mrs. Palton for the 14th, when many desirable people would have been met. Now, Lady Vermoise had professed affection for Angela Palton, and was distantly related to her.

It may have been carelessness on the part of Lady Vermoise. It may have been a reflection that Mrs. Palton was "not quite—well, just a little—rather, eh? You know what I mean." And it may have been a touch of conscience that made Lady Vermoise ask Mrs. Palton for the 19th, when, however, on her own showing, there would be nobody but George (George is a perfect idiot).

Mrs. Palton's refusal for the 19th was perfectly charming and polite. "I don't dream of letting her think that I've taken offence," she said to her husband. "All the same"

Mrs. Palton's cook, Emma Blades, was a woman of character, three years in her last place, an early riser, fond of children, and had other qualities which deserve and should receive our admiration and respect.

Mrs. Palton gave one of her dinner-parties—biennial, allowing time for recovery before the next. Emma Blades did her very best. She did not spare herself. Everything was beautiful.

Mrs. Palton may have been tired next morning—could you wonder? It may have simply never occurred to her. Certainly she omitted any word of compliment to Emma Blades next morning, and Emma noticed it. Mrs. Palton showed more thoughtfulness later in the day, when she reflected that there would only be the cutlets to warm up, to be followed by the remainder macédoine, and told Emma that she could go out that evening.

"Thank you very muchum," said Emma Blades. "I'd prefer not to." It was said with a refrigerated respectfulness.

"Ho, yes," said Emma Blades to the house-parlourer after, "I wasn't going to show I'd troubled my 'ead about it. But, however, when it comes to favours"

Emma Blades was not only aunt, but also godmother to her married sister's youngest, Doris, aged ten, who needs to control her temper—her mother has admitted it. And Emma Blades practically never forgot that Doris had a birthday on May 3, and signified the same in the usual manner.

But, of course, a biennial dinner-party may put everything out of anybody's head. Besides, Emma had a bad memory for dates. It was June 7 before she discovered that she had forgotten our Doris's birthday. She hastened at once to an act of reparation.

She sent Doris macaroons—and it is none of your business where Emma Blades got them from. They were packed in the card box which had contained the house-parlourer's collars, and enclosed with them was an old birthday-card which Emma had bread-crumbed from a love of cleanliness, and very nearly fried from the force of natural sequence.

And Doris wrote on a post-card: "Dear Arnty, Meny thanks for your kind biskwits."

"For she shan't think I care," said Doris. Notwithstanding, not one of those biscuits would she eat. She gave them to a strange dog in the park.

Now, that dog was the property of Lady Vermoise. It had been sent out for exercise with the second footman. But the second footman was heavy with Benedictine; for, as he had observed to the first footman, if he did not take it, somebody else would, so he had slept in Battersea Park and left the physical development to the dog.

It was a small black dog, reputed to be of Japanese extraction. It was all fluff and bark. Lady Vermoise called the black dog "Snowball." In fact, all her ladyship's friends admitted that she was full of humour; and, after all, it is what our friends say about us which really matters.

At tea-time the second footman, by command, brought in Snowball. No dog is really the better for four large macaroons, and in any case there was something Japanese and bizarre about Snowball's disposition. He lay under a chair and snarled.

"Know what that means?" Lady Vermoise asked her guests brightly. "Snowball and I are not quite—just a teeny-weeny—well, he had to have a little lesson from me. Dogs that snatch at things which are offered them have them taken away again, don't they, Snowball? It happened at breakfast-time. You should witness an interesting rapprochement. Here, Snowball, is the shortbread to which you are addicted. Gently, now. De la douceur Boule-de-neige, calme-toi tes transports!"

Upon which Snowball, with rapidity and decision, bit Lady Vermoise in the fleshy part of her hand.