The big white cat followed her, ran on ahead, and then stopped, arching its back as if waiting for her to stroke it.

Taking no notice of it, Joyce turned aside to the pear-tree and climbed up among the highest branches.
The cat rubbed against the tree, mewing and purring by turns, then sprang up in the tree after her.

She took the warm, furry creature in her arms and began talking to it.
"Oh, Solomon," she said, "what do you suppose is the matter over there?
My poor old lady must be monsieur's sister, or she couldn't have looked exactly like that picture, and he would not have acted so queerly.

What do you suppose it is that he can never forgive?
Why did he call me in there and then drive me out in such a crazy way, and tramp around the room, and put his head down on his arms as if he were crying ?" Solomon purred louder and closed his eyes.
"Oh, you dear, comfortable old thing," exclaimed Joyce, giving the cat a shake.

"Wake up and take some interest in what I am saying.