Lettice, who was stooping over a new kitten which she had adopted since the departure of Geraldine, straightened herself and looked at Gardiner with a discouraging expression. They were at the back of the house; she had been about to climb the steep hill orchard to watch the sunset when her minute friend charged out of the kitchen door, on her weak little legs no thicker than matches, with her tiny triangular tail flourishing in the air. Lettice had not, however, expected her host to follow directly on the kitten's heels.
He stood there laughing. "It's time for your evening constitutional. You haven't been out once since Denis went off. He left you in my charge; I shan't feel I'm doing my duty if I don't accept your very pressing invitation."
"I was not speaking to you," said Lettice deliberately.
He only laughed again.
"I know that; you never do speak to a Christian if you can possibly get out of it, do you? Give me that atom. No, I won't hurt her; I've some milk for her here—she was just going to drink it when she heard your welcome footstep and affection was too much for her. Come on, vidita mia."
Dexterously, even tenderly, he detached the clinging claws from Lettice's shoulder, and set down the mite at the saucer. The little head nodded over it, sniffing tentatively, and then out came a minute pink tongue and she began to lap, crouching down and crooning a contented purr. Lettice liked the way Gardiner lifted out a paw which had insinuated itself into the saucer, and stroked one finger down four inches of tabby spine. Then he looked up.
"As a matter of fact, I've an errand on hand, at the farm where we get our milk. Will you come with me? I wish you would. I'm bored of my own company."
"Is it far?" asked Lettice defensively.
"Mile. Don't come if you're fagged, but sacrifice yourself to oblige a fellow-creature if it's only laziness—or unsociability."
"Well," said Lettice, permitting herself the hint of a smile. She liked again the quick way he picked himself up, taking her at her word to the instant.