I have always kept a diary of sorts, and the tattered and shabby records
of those years lie before me now as I write. Many of the days are blank,
thus testifying to the uneventfulness of my life in general; for I would
never write, even in a diary, merely for the sake of writing.
Terrington, or "Terry," as I as well as Mrs. Severn came to call him,
makes his appearance on the very day I met him first; I find the record:
"Went to dinner with the S's at Hampstead. Met a man there named
Terrington. Scientific something at London Univ. Very shy. Took him home
afterwards."
The entry for the day on which Mrs. Severn came to tea is similarly
brief. "Tea in T's lab. Mrs. S. T. showed her the cats. Afterwards Mrs.
S. and I talked about T. Finished up at Frigolin's and the Coliseum.
Little Tich and some good wrestlers."
And for the next day: "T. waked me at 6 a.m. Wanted to know my opinion
about the cat. Agreed after discussion, though surprised at T.
suggesting it. Caught 9.15 to Manchester. Queen's."
The diary, you will observe, is hardly a Bashkirtseff affair. It was
written in good faith, not as a literary exercise, and most of its
entries are mere reminders, unintelligible to outsiders, but significant
to me even to this day. Terry _did_ waken me that morning at 6 a.m. And
the cat business, with which I agreed after discussion, although
surprised at his suggesting it, was simply this: he wanted to give the
black-and-white cat to Mrs. Severn. He thought it would be a "nice"
thing to do. The principal objection, as I pointed out to him, was the
awkward circumstance that the cat didn't belong to him. Technically, it
was the property of the University of London, but for all practical
purposes it belonged to Hensler, who had prepared it especially for some
work he was engaged on. To give it away would be, to say the least, a
highly irregular proceeding.
But he wouldn't drop the idea. Hensler, he said, would only suffer a
slight inconvenience, for there were other cats that would do just as
well. Nor would the loss cause much commotion, for escapes did happen
sometimes. Nobody would ever know about it except Mrs. Severn, and she
would be _so_ pleased.
So we "agreed after discussion." Perhaps it would be truer to say that I
was too sleepy to argue the point, especially as I could see he had
quite made up his mind. He left me with great cheerfulness, and I
finished my sleep. Later on in the day I had misgivings; the cat
business struck me as being, on the whole, rather silly. Besides, it
might easily be found out, and then there would be trouble with the
authorities. I remember, as I travelled up to Manchester, working out
the possibility that the cat, strolling in the neighbourhood of
Hampstead Heath before its shaven fur had re-grown, might be met and
recognized by Hensler himself....