The window of the back bedroom, where Margaret was, looked out over the garden, and beyond the garden at the courts of the tennis club, and beyond that, but too far away to see, lay the Dublin hills. The carpet did a lot for the garden, Mrs. Bagot thought. The carpet and the laburnum together made a picture. She was sleepy again. It was really very silly. They might not have another day like this for a long time, and she could think only of wasting it in sleep. The carpet looked so inviting down there on the grass. It would be just right, to lie there in the open air and dream, not sleep. She envied people who felt free to do as they liked, without feeling self-conscious or ashamed of themselves. There were a lot of women who would lie down on that grass, or on that carpet, and never think the less of themselves, and never wonder what other people thought of them. Mrs. Bagot wished she could be like that. They were lucky, those people.

She pulled down the blind, and the bright room became dim — a dim blue — and then she went back to the big brass bed that Lily and Margaret shared. The bed was covered by a red-white-and-pink patchwork quilt that hung down to the floor on each side. Margaret was sitting up, propped by pillows, and, alongside her, two cats, one orange and one black, had entrenched themselves in comfort. At her feet, the rough-haired white terrier, Bennie, lay on his side. Bennie prudently kept his arm over his eye, but he wagged his tail hopefully. The cats, open-eyed and wary, did not move. The big orange one, Rupert, purred loudly and methodically. It was his only skill, and he was proud of it. He never stopped purring. He purred at friends, strangers, and furniture. Earlier in the day, he had draped himself, purring, along one of the thin branches of the laburnum and he had continued to purr even when he lost his balance and was left hanging, like a fool, by his front paws, while he wondered whether to drop to the grass or try to scramble back to his perch. He purred for his life, and nobody knew whether he was truly stupid or truly amiable. Margaret had her hand on his ribs, where she could feel the purr working. Her other hand was on Minnie’s thin black ribs. Minnie’s purr was muted and premeditated. She only purred when she was happy. She was purring now, but only Margaret could be sure of that.

“Let them stay,” Margaret said to her mother. “They are very good today.”