"We don't have time for those nice gentlemen, Amelia. Get me the powder, I have to make a call." He snapped his fingers at her.

Amelia politely set down the train and straightening her skirts walked out.

"I saw that look. Now you've done it, Arsène old boy," the tabby cat remarked from the bookcase.

"Done what? Can't you see this is urgent, cat? We don't have time for womanly, sensitivity. Amy is a sweet girl. She's a good chap. She doesn't go in for that sort of silly nonsense. She's got a head on her shoulders, a good one. Sometimes I think, she thinks like a man."

The door opened in that instant and a pouch came flying through the door, slamming into Arsene's face. It exploded in a shower of powder.

The cat said nothing.