"I'm glad you've got such a nice appointment," he said. "Such a gentleman. You'll find yourself very comfortable there. Come and tell me 'ow you get on. My young ladies often come and see me."
He was a kind, if somewhat familiar whale, and she decided not to throw away her glove.
Her gentlemanly employer was a solicitor called Edgar Partiloe. He was, she judged, about thirty years of age, and beginning to attract clients to his dingy office. No one could doubt his learning, and ability glimmered behind his powerful spectacles. His forehead was knobbly, and it shone, but his hands were beautiful, and she suspected elegance in his feet, though they were shod in crumpled leather.
She shared the outer office with an elderly and impoverished clerk called Arnold Jessop. He always wore an overcoat, and keeping his lunch in the pockets of it, he would begin, from an early hour, to extract crumbs of bread and cheese, and quickly pop them into his mouth when he thought she was not looking. He lived with a sister who kept a small Home for Cats, and his first sign of consideration for Theresa was when he brought a kitten out of the pocket where it had been sitting on his lunch.
"It's an orphan," he said, and blew his nose.
"Poor thing," said Theresa, stroking it with a forefinger. "I hadn't realized a kitten could be."
"Could be?"
"An orphan."
"Of course they can. I should think so! Pussy, pussy, pussy!" she heard the grating of his teeth as he rubbed the creature's neck, "ain't you an orphan, then? Ain't you? Course you are—just like anybody else. You can have him if you like," he added, and turned away as though he disdained his gift.
"That's very kind of you," she said. She hated cats, but for Mr. Jessop she felt affection. "That's very kind," she repeated. "But are you sure you won't miss it?" she asked hopefully.