“Well, after dinner is the best time for news when there is any,” Helen gave Kit the impression of talking nonsense, but Miss Carrington understood the hint that ill news interfered with appetite. “I knew that the child was going on well the instant that I saw you. What do you think I have in that basket?” Helen asked. “Couldn’t guess! I hope for your soul’s sake that you’ve set up a pet, but I don’t dare hope for the best,” returned Kit. “No, Master Christopher, not even for my soul’s sake shall I ever set up a pet. I don’t do a whole lot for my soul’s sake, anyway! But it is a pet, nevertheless. On the strength of the news before we left yesterday, that little Anne was going to live, I bought one for her. I thought an Angora kitten would be the best tonic to hasten on her convalescence. She can have it on the bed with her, and watch it play and strike fascinating attitudes.” Helen was unstrapping the basket as she spoke. Kit’s delight was unmistakable, but his surprise was not flattering. “What a happy inspiration, Nell!” he cried. “There’s nothing like a kitten to entertain an ailing child. How did you ever happen to think of it?” “‛A princess of the direct Herodian line, like you!’ your too-honest manner implies, my dear!” laughed Helen. “Oh, I am not stupid, though I be heartless, or so I flatter myself! I have been a sick little girl myself. I remember I was most interested in having kittens visit me in those circumstances. I never got attached to them, never wanted to continue the acquaintance, but they did amuse me. Cats have lovely muscles; I still like to watch them. Your Anne--_little_ Anne!--is probably a model of affection and will love this catlet personally. It struck me as a delicate compliment, since you are so fond of the child, to give her a kit! How’s this?” She produced from the basket a snowy-white kitten, high-bred, beautiful in every line and in each fluffy hair; its face round and expressive, its eyes still blue, with the look of innocence that only a kitten can wear and to which nothing created since Eden can hope to correspond. “Oh, jiminy!” cried Kit, as pleased as little Anne would surely be. “Helen, it beats the world! What a beauty! Little Anne will either die of it, or recover at her first glimpse of it.” He took the kitten from Helen, who held it out by her thumb and forefinger, its legs drawn up into its downy stomach, and nestled it in his neck. “You small, soft thing!” Kit said. Helen flushed to her hair. Her eyes gave out a gleam, and she looked, as she felt, as if she would gladly have taken Kit in her arms--so big, so simple, so lovable he seemed with the “small, soft thing” creeping close to him trustingly.