"Oh, I'm clean," admitted Eliza. "Mr. Sidney,"—she paused again, her coat in her hand, and faced him,—"you don't want to go traipsing through the streets o' New York with an old woman and a cat!"
"That's where you're wrong," returned Phil. "You're the only girl I have in town. It's highly proper that we should go walking of a Sunday afternoon. You get on your things, and I'll wrestle with Pluto."
The cat, suspecting that whatever plan was afoot was not entirely according to his taste, led Phil a short chase; but all the havens which usually harbored his periods of rebellion having disappeared, he was soon captured, and when Eliza, hatted and coated, entered the living-room, Phil had laid the cat on the flannel in the bottom of the basket, and was keeping him there by reassuring caresses.
"Ain't he just as kind as he can be!" thought Eliza.
"Ready?" asked Phil, and closed the basket. He met Pluto's gaze through the window.
"It's all right, old chap," he laughed.
He was not unmindful of the advantage of this diversion of Eliza's mind, in leaving the apartment forever. He had a green memory of her stormy emotion. He tried to take the key from her now as they stepped outside.
"No," she said briefly, "I'll close this chapter myself," and she locked the door.
Philip balanced the basket ostentatiously. "Believe me," said he, "Pluto is some cat! How did you expect to get on with him alone?"
"I calc'lated to get a boy," replied Eliza in an unsteady voice. Memories were crowding her.