cking jealous is Bert. And he calls
me his pussy-cat. Puss, puss! There's a scream. He's really a bit soft,
and his eyes is awful. But it's nice, so here's luck." She drained her
glass. "'Do you love me, puss?' he says. Silly thing! But they think a
lot of him at the office. His governor came down to see him the other
morning about something he's been writing. I don't know what it was. I
hate the sight of his writing. I carry on at him something dreadful, and
then he says, 'My pussy-cat mustn't disturb me.'"

Daisy shrieked with laughter at the recollection, and Michael who was
beginning to be rather fearful for her sobriety suggested home as a good
move.

"I shan't go if you don't come back with me," she declared.

Since their incarceration Michael had a tender feeling for Daisy, and he
promised to accompany her. She would not go in a hansom, however; nor
would she allow Barnes to make a third; and in the end she and Michael
went wandering off down Shaftesbury Avenue through the warm September
night.

Michael enjoyed walking with her, for she rambled on with long tales of
her past that seemed the inconsequent threads of a legendary Odyssey. He
flattered himself with her companionship, and told himself that here at
last was a demonstration of the possibility of a true friendship with a
woman of that class with whom mere friendship would be more improbable
than with any woman. It was really delightful to stroll with her
homeward under this starlit sky of London; to wander on and on while she
chattered forth her history. There had been no hint of any other
relation between them; she was accepting him as a friend. He was proud
as they walked through Russell Square, overshadowed by the benign trees
that hung down with truculent green sprays in the lamplight; he felt a
thrill in her companionship, as they dawdled along the railings of
Brunswick Square in the acrid scent of the privet. It was curious to
think that from the glitter and jangle of the Half Moon could rise this
friendship that was giving to all the houses they passed a strange
peacefulness. He fancied that here and there the windows were blinking
at them in drowsy content, when the gas was extinguished by the unknown
bedfarer within. Judd Street shone before them in a lane of lamps, and
beyond, against the night, the gothic cliff of St. Pancras Station was
indistinctly present. They turned down into Little Quondam Street, and
presently came to a red brick hou