sir, Mr. Ashton has just sent round to ask if you could make it convenient to be in at ten o’clock this evening, as he wants to see you particularly.”

Micky looked surprised; Ashton had been very particularly engaged for that evening, he knew. Evidently something had happened to upset his plans as well.

“Ten o’clock? All right; I dare say I shall be in.”

He went on down the stairs.

Out on the path he paused and looked up and down the street.

The impulse that had sent him out had died away; it was beastly cold, and much more comfortable by the fire. He hesitated, and in that moment he saw the figure of the girl again.

She had stopped now in the light of a street lamp, and seemed to be looking at something she carried in her arms––a child! Surely not a child!

Micky’s curiosity was aroused. He buttoned the collar of his coat more closely round his chin and went on.

5

The girl had moved too, almost as if she felt instinctively that she was being followed, and as Micky drew abreast with her she shrank a little to one side as if afraid.

“What’s the matter?” asked Micky bluntly.

They were some few yards from the lamp now. But, as she turned to look up at him with startled eyes, its yellow light fell on her face; and Micky saw with amazement that she was quite young and exceedingly pretty, in spite of the distress in her eyes, and the tears that were still wet on her cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” he asked again, more gently, and waited for the pathetically shaken denial which he felt sure would come.

“Nothing––nothing at all.”

“Nothing!” There was a note of exasperation in his voice. “You were crying––I heard you, and people don’t walk about the streets at this time of night and cry if there’s nothing the matter. If that’s a baby you’ve got with you, you ought to know better than to–––” He broke off. She was laughing, a weak, uncertain little laugh.

“A baby!” she said tremulously. “It isn’t a baby; it’s a cat.”

“A cat!” Micky’s voice was full of disgust. He looked down at her from his 

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