-up, felt it. As for Uncle
Robert he was like a young man in the beginning of first love.

Adeline judged people by their attitude to her. Anne, whether she
listened to her or not, was her own darling. Her husband and John Severn
were adorable, Major Markham of Wyck Wold and Mr. Hawtrey of Medlicote,
who admired her, were perfect dears, Sir John Corbett of Underwoods, who
didn't, was that silly old thing. Resist her and she felt no mean
resentment; you simply dropped out of her scene. Thus her world was
peopled with her adorers.

Anne couldn't have told you whether she felt the charm on its own
account, or whether the pleasure of being with her was simply part of
the blessed state of being at Wyck-on-the-Hill. Enough that Auntie
Adeline was there where Uncle Robert and Eliot and Colin and Jerrold
were; she belonged to them; she belonged to the house and garden; she
stood with the flowers.

Anne was walking with her now, gathering roses for the house. The garden
was like a room shut in by the clipped yew walls, and open to the sky.
The sunshine poured into it; the flagged walks were pale with heat.

Anne's cat, Nicky, was there, the black Persian that Jerrold had given
her last birthday. He sat in the middle of the path, on his haunches,
his forelegs straight and stiff, planted together. His face had a look
of sweet and solemn meditation.

"Oh Nicky, oh you darling!" she said.

When she stroked him he got up, arching his back and carrying his tail
in a flourishing curve, like one side of a lyre; he rubbed against her
ankles. A white butterfly flickered among the blue larkspurs; when Nicky
saw it he danced on his hind legs, clapping his forepaws as he tried to
catch it. But the butterfly was too quick for him. Anne picked him up
and he flattened himself against her breast, butting under her chin with
his smooth round head in his loving way.

And as Adeline wouldn't listen to her Anne talked to the cat.

"Clever little thing, he sees everything, all the butterflies and the
dicky-birds and the daddy-long-legs. Don't you, my pretty one?"

"What's the good of talking to the cat?" said Adeline. "He doesn't
understand a word you say."

"He doesn't understand the words, he says, but he feels the feeling ...
He was the most beautiful of all the pussies, he was, he was."

"Nonsense. You're throwing yourself away on that absurd animal, for all
the affection you'll get out of him."

"I shall get out just what I put in.