"I don't know, I am sure."
"No mother, of course?"
"No."
Miss Leslie nodded.
"I have always maintained," she observed, "that there ought to be a law appointing women inspectors to go round and look after the rooms of young men that live alone in London. Their motives would be misunderstood, of course, but it would be worth while, all the same. Is there a servant-body of any kind in this place?"
"He says that a woman comes in every morning and tidies up."
"I should like to meet her," said Miss Leslie grimly. "I expect she could a tale unfold. Where does he get his food, and how does he eat it? Off the floor?"
"I don't know," said Peggy, who had sat very silent through this tirade. "I—I had no idea it was as bad as this."
They invaded the tiny pantry. Here they found a teapot, together with a cup and saucer, two plates, a knife, a fork, and a spoon. There was also a small frying-pan, and a tarnished cruet-stand. A very dingy dishcloth hung upon a nail at the back of the door. There were receptacles which had evidently at one time contained tea, sugar, and salt, but they were empty. The lady who tidied up had seen to that. The place was dusty, and smelt of mice.
"And he told me only yesterday that he was very happy here," remarked Miss Leslie. "Poor, poor body!"