"O child, the gifts of the gods are more precious than that," cried Anne. "Wait until you find yourself rendering thanks for a fragment of any one of these things."
"Or a memory," said Mrs. Kent, so softly that no one heard.
Here Miserere crawled to Mr. Stanton's feet.
"Tell me your notions about life, Tabby," said the young man, picking the animal up.
"Tabby!" exclaimed Anne with indignation. "His name is Miserere. He is a fin-de-siècle cat, with a point of view. Miserere is the only pessimist in Bohemia. Life for him is a long pursuit of good things to eat, and he's unhappy because he can't have too many."
"Do you call this Bohemia?" asked Howard. "Where's the 'old hat stopping a chink in the roof'? The real thing has none of this elegance."
"It is Bohemia. It all began, my share of it at least, with that." Anne held up her white and gold cup. "I went out to
