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.

He picked up the menu to hide his discomfort. When the waiter came he
ordered the best dinner the restaurant served. He was conscious that
the girl was watching him anxiously. When the waiter had gone, she
said, "I can't afford to have a dinner like that."

Micky flushed crimson.

"I thought you were dining with me," he stammered. "I--I hope you
will--I shall be only too honoured...."

Her grey eyes met his anxiously.

"I've never done a thing like this before," she said in distress. "I
don't know what you are thinking of me ... but ... well, I suppose I
was just desperate...." She broke off biting her lip, then she rushed
on again. "I don't suppose you'll ever see me any more, so it doesn't
really matter much, but...."

"I hope to see you again, many times," said Micky, with an earnestness
that surprised himself.

She looked away, and her face hardened.

"I suppose men are all the same," she said, after a moment.
"However...." she shrugged her shoulders with a sort of recklessness
that made Micky frown. She leaned back in her chair with sudden
weariness. "It's very kind of you," she said disinterestedly.

"It's not kind at all," he hastened to assure her. "I'm much more
pleased to be with you than you are to be with me. If it hadn't been
for you I should have spent this evening alone--New Year's Eve, too,"
he added, with a sort of chagrin and a sudden memory of Marie Deland.

"New Year's Eve!" she echoed. She closed her eyes for a moment, and
Micky had an uncomfortable sort of feeling that she was looking back
on the year that was dying and could see nothing pleasant in the whole
of the twelve months. Presently she opened them again with a little
sigh. "Well, I don't want another year like the last one," she said.

"You won't have," he told her promptly. "I've got a sort of feeling
that there are lots of good things coming along for you. The luck has
to change some time or other, and if you've had a rotten time in the
past you won't have it in the future."

"I don't believe in luck," sh