He sat down opposite to her; he was thanking his lucky stars that the Delands’ message had reached him before he changed into evening clothes; somehow as he looked at this girl he felt slightly ashamed of his own lazy, luxurious life and the banking account which, like the cruse of oil, never failed. That this girl had no surplus of this world’s goods he was certain, though she was neatly dressed and was unmistakably a lady. Her gloves were worn and had been carefully mended, and her coat looked far too thin for such a cold night.
“Well, what are we going to have?” he asked. It was surprising how cheerful he felt. “And what about that wonderful cat of yours? By the way, hasn’t it got a name?”
She smiled faintly.
“I call him Charlie,” she said.
“Charlie!” Micky’s eyes twinkled. “Well, it’s original, anyway,” he said with a chuckle. “And Charlie must have some milk, I suppose. I say, he’s a bit thin, isn’t he?” he asked dubiously.
She had taken off the shawl which had been wrapped about it, and the poor animal sat on her lap blinking in the light, a forlorn enough specimen, with a long tail and fierce eyes.
The girl stroked its head.
“He’s been half starved,” she said. “You’d be thin if you hadn’t had any more to eat than he’s had.”
“I’m sure I should,” said Micky humbly. He thought guiltily of the waste which he knew went on in his own establishment; it was odd that it had never struck him before that there must be many people in the world, not to mention cats, who would be glad enough of the waste from his table.