Angela’s clear eyes looked full into the clear eyes of the Irish girl.  “I don’t believe you can have anything to tell me which will make me want not to have you.  Is it serious?”

“Yes, ma’am, very serious.”  Kate paused, swallowing heavily.  “It’s—­it’s a cat.”

“A cat!” Angela burst out laughing.  “How can a cat come between us?”

“A black cat, ma’am named Timmy after me own Tim, who give him to me, a kitten, three years ago, before he left the ould country.  I promised be this and be that I’d niver part with the crature till Tim and me was made wan, and I niver have.  Neither will I, if I have to starve.  But I pay fur his kape in the hotel, out o’ me wages, as if he was a Christian, and so he is, pretty near.  There’s nothin’ he doesn’t know; but I don’t suppose ye’d allow him to travel in the trains—­and I couldn’t lave him.”

To have a travelling cat, and a maid named McGinnis!  The idea was preposterous, but Angela was in a mood to do preposterous things, and enjoy doing them.  “I like you for your loyalty,” she said, “and I shall like Timmy, too.  Cats are misunderstood people.  They can be splendid friends.  And black cats are supposed to bring luck.”

“I should love to have Timmy bring you some, ma’am,” said Kate.  “Not that ye need it, of course.”

“But I do,” Angela answered.  “As for you, I shall call you by your first name.  Kate, as if you were a French maid.  I like it better than McGinnis.”

“Thank you, so do I, ma’am.  But it’s me Tim has the fine name, which he’ll give me when the right time comes.  It’s Moriarty, and to my mind there’s none with more music in it.  Oh, if ye only knew how happy ye’ve made me!  I was afraid me name would be as black in yer eyes as the cat, so that’s why I broke it to ye gently, and now I’m rewarded for everything.”

Angela laughed again.  “I fancied I was all alone in the world,” she said to herself, “and here I am collecting a family.”

She had luncheon brought to her own sitting-room, when Kate had put away everything and gone.  Quantities of flowers she ordered, too—­American Beauty roses, which looked extraordinarily intelligent and companionable, she thought.  Then, most of the afternoon she spent in poring over maps, planning what she called her “pilgrimage”; and a little before six she was ready to go down and buy her ticket West, at the travel bureau which, she heard, existed in the hotel.  Afterward she meant to take a stroll, and see Fifth Avenue by sunset.

Not once since entering her rooms had she consciously remembered the “bronze statue.”  In the marble hall, however, she recalled him, and thought most likely he was out amusing himself and seeing New York.  But no; there he was, sitting rather dejectedly in a large rocking-chair; and as her eyes found him, his found her.  Instantly his whole aspect changed.  The statue came to life.  His listless expression brightened to the puzzling intentness with which he