Dido heard a kind of scuffling slither, a gentle voice said, "Stand, if you please, Rachel," and a gentleman entered the room. "Dear me," he said. "Sunflower, come here." The tiger—Sunflower was its name, apparently—padded around, rubbed its head against the gentleman very lovingly, and sat down beside him. Dido studied him with interest. He really was a gentleman, she decided—as opposed to a Gentleman. He wore black small-clothes, white silk stockings, black shoes with silver buckles, a black velvet jacket, and a snowy white stock, beautifully tied. His hair, what little there was of it, was also snowy, like very clean thistledown. His face looked as if he sat indoors a good deal, reading, but the eyes behind goldrimmed pince-nez were a very clear bright blue. On one hand he wore a silver ring with a large pink stone in it. "Dear me," he said again. "That waygoing fellow gave me to understand that there were picnickers, and he was quite right, evidently. When will the public learn that this is private property?
