“Are you in a hurry to get home?” the girl asked, when they were in the street again.

“No; time is of no consequence to me.”

“Do you live far off?”

“In Kennington.  And you?”

“If you like, I’ll show you.  Let us walk quickly.  I feel rather cold.”

She led the way into the Strand.  At no great distance from Temple Bar she turned off into a small court.

“This is a queer place to live in,” observed Waymark, as he looked up at the dark houses.

“Don’t be afraid,” was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the door with a latch-key.  They went up two flights of stairs, then entered a room where a bright fire was burning.  Waymark’s conductor held a piece of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp.  It was a small, pleasantly furnished sitting-room.

“Do you play?” Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon it.

“I only wish I could.  My landlady’s daughter is giving me lessons.  But I think I’m getting on.  Listen to me do this exercise.”

She sat down, and, with much conscientious effort, went over some simple bars.  Then she looked up at her companion and caught him smiling.

“Well,” she exclaimed, in a pet, “you must begin at the beginning in everything, mustn’t you?  Come and let me hear what you can do.”

“Not even so much.”

“Then don’t laugh at a poor girl doing her best.  You have such a queer smile too; it seems both ill-natured and good-natured at the same time.  Now wait a minute till I come back.”

She went into an inner room, and closed the door behind her.  In five minutes it opened again.  She appeared in a dressing gown and with her feet in slippers.  Her fine hair fell heavily about her shoulders; in her arms she held a beautiful black cat, with white throat and paws.

“This is my child.  Don’t you admire him?  Shake hands, Grim.”

“Why Grim?”

“It’s short for Grimalkin. the name of a cat in a hook of fairy tales I used to be fond of reading.  Don’t you think he’s got a beautiful face, and a good deal more intelligent than some people we could mention?  I picked him up on our door-step, two months ago.  Oh, you never saw such a wretched little object, dripping with rain, and with such a poor starved little face, and bones almost coming through the skin.  He looked up at me, and begged me as plain as plain could be to have pity on him and help him; didn’t you, Grimmy?  And so I brought him upstairs, and made him comfortable, and now we shall never part.—­Do you like animals?”

“Yes.”

The door of the room suddenly opened, and there sprang in a fresh-coloured young girl in hat and jacket, short, plump, pretty, and looking about seventeen.  She started back on seeing that the room was occupied.

“What is it, Sally?” asked Grim’s mistress, with a good-natured laugh.

“Why, Mrs. Walter told me you wasn’t in yet; I’m awful sorry, I beg your pardon.”