“A kind of fit,” Bill gloomily repeated. Then he struck one clenched fist into the palm of the other hand. “And hang it!” he cried, “I've won her! According to the bargain old Marrapit made with me, I've won her. If it had not been for me you wouldn't have taken the cat to that hut in the wood, and if you hadn't taken it there Marrapit wouldn't have it _now_. It's through me he got it, isn't it?” “Bill,” George told him, “it is. You rotted my show all right. No mistake about that.” It was a fearful situation as between these two young men. In silence, in gloom, they gazed each upon the ground. Bill took a glance at George's face; turned hurriedly from the despair there stamped; set his eyes upon my pretty Mary. He gave a sigh. “But, George, old man, you've come out of it the better,” he said. “You've lost the money you wanted, but you've got your--you've got Miss Humfray. I've lost my--I've lost Margaret.” In great melancholy George rose; crossed to his Mary; sat upon the arm of her chair; caressed her pretty shoulders. “You don't know what you're talking about, Bill. Bill, we're in a most fearful hole. We haven't got a sou, and I've got no work. You're doing well. You're making money. You're bound to get Margaret in time. As for us--” Bill was deeply stirred. “I say, I am sorry,” he told them. He sat up very straight. “Look here, don't get down on your luck. Come out and have lunch with me and tell me just how you're fixed. If a small loan will do you any good I'm certain my guv'nor will stand it. He likes you awfully, George. Come on. I shan't see you again otherwise for some time. I'm off on another Special Commissioner job for the _Daily_, you know.” George gave a slight shudder. “Oh? Thank goodness, I'm not the object of it this time. What is it?” “What is it? Why, you've seen the _Daily_ this morning, haven't you?” “I'll never open the infernal thing again.” Bill did not heed the aspersion. “It's really rather funny, you know,” he went on. “Look here.” He tugged at his pocket; produced a _Daily_. A pencil dislodged by the paper fell to the ground; rolled beneath the table. Bill stooped after it. The cat that lay there, disturbed, walked forth--arching its proud orange back. II. With eyes that goggled tremendously Bill stared at it; with a finger that shook he pointed at it; turned his head to George. “George,” he asked, “whose cat is that?” George looked at Mary; gave a bitter little laugh. “I suppose it's ours,” he replied. “Eh, Mary?” A sad little smile his Mary gave, “I suppose it is,” she agreed. From one to the other Bill looked, suspicion in those goggling eyes. “You _suppose_ it is?” he emphasised. Again he swiftly looked from George to Mary; again stared at the splendid orange form. “George,” he said sharply--“George, what is that cat's name?” George regarded him with a whimsical smile. “Bill, you old duffer, you don't think it's the Rose, do you?”