, and the vices of the
domestic cat.

Her manners and her conversation were as bright and charming as her
eyes. Before we parted, we had made an appointment for the next
afternoon, and as I said good-bye, I ventured to ask--

"How is it, lady, that you are of such a surpassingly beautiful colour?"

"It is natural to our family," she said, tossing her pretty ears. "My
mother was the Royal Crimson Dog at the Court of the King of India."

I bowed with deep respect and withdrew, for I heard them calling me at
home.

The next day I looked for my beautiful pink-coloured lady, but I looked
in vain. Instead, a dog of a bright sky-blue, with a yellow ribbon round
its neck, sat in the sun on the dyer's doorstep. Yet, could I be
mistaken? That nose, those ears, that feathery tail, those bright and
beaming eyes!

I went across. She received me with some embarrassment, which
disappeared as I talked gaily of milk and guinea pigs, and the habits of
the cats'-meat man. Before we parted I said--

"You have changed your dress."

"Yes," she said, "it's so common and vulgar to wear always one colour."

"But I thought"--I hesitated--"that your mother was the Royal Crimson
Dog at the Court of----"

"So she was," replied the lady promptly, "but my father was the
well-known sky-blue terrier at the Crystal Palace Dog Show. I resemble
both my parents."

I retired, fascinated by her high breeding and graceful explanations.
Through my dreams that night wandered a long procession of blue and
crimson dogs.

The next day, when I hurried to keep the appointment she had been good
enough to make with me, I found her a deep purple. Again I concealed my
surprise, while we talked of subjects of common interest, of dog-collars
and chains and kennels, of biscuits, bones, and the outrage of the
muzzling order; and at last I said--

"You have changed your dress again. Your mother was the Royal----"

"Oh, don't," she said, "it's so tiresome to keep repeating things. My
father was red and my mother was blue, and I myself, as you see, am
purple. Don't you know that crimson and blue make purple? Any child with
a shilling box of paints could have told you that."

I thanked her, and came away. Purple seemed to me the most beautiful
colour in the world.

But the next day she was green--as green as grass. After the customary
exchange of civilities, I remarked firmly--

"Blue and crimson may make purple, but----"

"But green is my favourite colo