tle.
Bedclothes were heaped on the sofa-bedstead in a disordered state, and in
the midst of them nestled a large tortoise-shell cat.

"Sit down," said Kemp. There was an old chair near the fireplace and he
pushed it towards her with his foot. "What's brought you over here?"

The girl sank into the chair and began to cry.

"I can't help it, Kincher," she said. "I don't know what to say or do.
Fancy Fred being charged with murder! Oh, it's too dreadful to think
about. And yet I can think of nothing else."

"Crying your eyes out won't help matters much," replied the
unsympathetic Kemp.

The girl did not reply, but rocked herself backwards and forwards on the
chair. She sobbed so violently that she appeared to be threatened with an
attack of hysteria. Kemp watched her silently. The cat on the
sofa-bedstead, as if awakened by the noise, got up, yawned, looked
inquiringly round, and then with a measured leap sprang into the girl's
lap. She was startled by his act and then she smiled through her sobs as
she stroked the animal's coat.

"Poor old Peter!" she exclaimed. "He wants to console me! don't you,
Peter? I say, Kincher, I wish you'd give me Peter; you don't want him.
Oh, look at the dear!" The cat had perched himself on one of her knees
to beg, and he sawed the air appealingly with his forepaws. "I must give
him a tit-bit for that." She eyed the remains of the meal on the table
disdainfully. "No, Peter, there is nothing fit for you to
eat--positively nothing. Why, he understands me like a human being," she
continued in amazement as the huge cat dropped on all fours and
deliberately sprang back to the sofa-bedstead. "I say, Kincher, you
really want a woman in this place to look after you. It's in a most
shocking state--it's like a pigsty."

Kemp made no reply but continued to watch her. Her tears had vanished and
she sat forward with her dark eyes sparkling, one hand supporting her
pretty face as she glanced round the room.

"Have you a cigarette?" she asked suddenly.

Kemp went into the shop and came back with a packet of cheap cigarettes.
The girl pushed them away petulantly.

"I don't like that brand," she said; "haven't you anything better?"

The man shook his head.

"No? Then here goes--I must have a smoke of some sort." She stuck one of
the cheap cigarettes daintily into her mouth. "A match, Kincher! Why, the
box is filthy! You must have a woman in to look after you, even if I have
to find you one myse