"Good. And, I say, I hope you won't mind, but you'll have to toilet yourself in the kitchen sink. Our 'char's' such a rotter, you know, and I see she hasn't filled your jug—she never does—and she doesn't come till ten, and I've got to finish dressing, and Fatty's out on a call, and there's all the breakfast to get; and when you've done your toilet do you mind just putting a match to the gas stove and sticking a kettle on? Thanks awfully." ... My fair guest flung herself upon the door. All of her, save a corner of the stripy petticoat, had disappeared, when I put in the important question.
"I say," I cried, "who are you?"
"Me," cried a voice from behind the door—"me? Oh ... I am James."
III
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
With breakfast came the opportunity of renewing my entente with James. That young lady appeared now fully clothed in the conventional garments of her age, even to a pinafore with seven pockets.
"What do you put in all those pockets?" I inquired, as she tripped in with the bacon.
"Most of them," she answered, "contain white rats.... I thought," she added, eyeing me closely, as I drifted in a thoughtful manner to the far end of the table, "I thought you adored white rats?"
"That is quite so," I responded. "The dear, dumb creatures! I—I idolise them."
"Why do you idolise them?" demanded James, putting on a very subtile smile.