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or both. It was only a minor inconvenience, since Emerson never noticed and Ramses was too well-brought-up to misbehave—not in my house, at any rate!— but I did get tired of stumbling over misty-eyed females.
I told Gargery we would wait on ourselves, and he removed himself and Sarah. Emerson sat down with the kitten on his knee. Most of our current crop of cats were descendants of two Egyptian felines and they had bred true to type—brindled fawn-and-brown coats, large ears, and a high level of intelligence. How this small creature would turn out it was impossible to say, but her face bore a striking resemblance to that of her great—or possibly great-great-, I had lost count—grandmother Bastet, who had been Ramses's special companion. Now wide awake and curious, she swarmed up Emerson's shirtfront and perched on his shoulder.
Emerson chuckled. "Has it a name?"
"She is only six weeks old," Ramses replied. "Nefret hasn't chosen names for this litter yet. Father, I was about to ask Mother—"
    "It's a good thing the Egyptian pantheon is so extensive," Emerson remarked. "We've used the obvious names—Hathor, Horus, Anubis, Sekhmet—but there are plenty of obscure deities yet to be—catch her, Ramses, she's heading for the cream jug."
The creature had taken a flying leap from his shoulder onto the tea table. Ramses scooped her up and held her, despite her squeaks and scratches, while I poured cream into a saucer and put it on the floor. Emerson was vastly entertained by the kitten's attempts to drink and purr simultaneously. I was not so entertained at seeing the Persian rug spattered with cream.
"Mother," said Ramses, absently wiping his bleeding fingers on his shirtfront, "I was about to ask—"
"Don't do that," I exclaimed. "Use a serviette. Good gracious, you are as bad as your father; it is impossible to keep the two of you in clean shirts. What Rose will say—"
"Why are you in such a scolding mood, Peabody?" Emerson inquired. "Not having one of your famous premonitions, I hope. If you are, I don't want to hear about it."
His use of that name suggested that despite his mild complaint he was in an affable mood. When first we met, he had addressed me by my surname as he would have addressed a professional equal—a man, in other words—and over the years it had become a term of affection and approbation. I never employed his given name of Radcliffe, since he does not like it.
"Not at all, my dear," I said with a smile. "My concerns this evening are those of an affectionate friend and hostess. I do want everything to go well! I am not too worried about Selim, he has been in England before and fancies himself quite a man of the world, but this is Daoud's first trip abroad, and Fatima was for most of her life a conventional Moslem wife, veiled, illiterate, and subservient. I fear she will be completely overcome by the variety of new experiences she must face. And how will she get on with Rose?"
"I cannot imagine," said Emerson, "why Rose's opinion carries such weight with you. Curse it, Peabody, you are inventing difficulties where none exist. Fatima had the courage to come to you and ask for a position as housekeeper after her husband died; she had sufficient intelligence and initiative to learn to read and write, and to speak English. I'll wager she has relished every moment of the trip."
"Oh, very well, Emerson, I admit it! I am on edge. I don't like Nefret driving that vehicle at night, in rain and fog; I am worried about our friends' catching a chill—they aren't accustomed to our miserable damp weather. I worry about the wedding. What if they aren't happy?"
    Emerson's face cleared. "Ah, so that's it. Women always get into this state before a wedding," he explained to Ramses. "Don't know why, they are frightfully keen on people getting married, but once the matter is settled they begin stewing and worrying. Why shouldn't Lia and David be happy?"
"They face so many problems, Emerson! They will be snubbed and