"But surely you shall wait till I've got a servant," she said. "And what will poor Mr. Witherwick do? He's so fond of you, Sylvia. I'm sure your poor father would be most distressed to think of you at Earl's Court. Such temptations for a young girl. I look upon myself as your guardian, you know. I would feel a big responsibility if anything came to you." Sylvia, however, declined to stay. "And I wanted to give you a little kitten. Mavourneen will be having kittens next month, and May cats are so lucky. When you told me about your black cat, Maria, I said to myself that I would be giving you one. And dear Parnell is the father, and if it's not Parnell, it's my darling Brian Boru. You beauty! Was you the father of some sweet little kitties? Clever man!" When Mrs. Meares turned away to congratulate Brian Boru upon his imminent if ambiguous paternity, Sylvia went up-stairs to get her only possession--a coat with a fur-trimmed collar and cuffs, which she had worn alternately with underclothing for a month; this week the underclothing was, luckily, not at the wash. Sylvia shook off Mrs. Meares's last remonstrances and departed into the balmy April afternoon. The weather was so fine that she pawned her overcoat and bought a hat; then she pawned her fur cap, bought a pair of stockings (the pair in the wash belonged to Mrs. Meares), and went to Finborough Road. Mrs. Gowndry asked if she was the young lady who was going to share Miss Bannerman's room; when Sylvia said she was, Mrs. Gowndry argued that the bed would not hold two and that she had not bargained for the sofa's being used for anything but sitting on. "That sofa's never been slept on in its life," she protested. "And if I start in letting people sleep anywhere, I might as well turn my house into a public convenience and have done with it; but, there, it's no good grumbling. Such is life. It's the back room. Second floor up. The last lodger burnt his name on the door with a poker, so you can't make no mistake." Mrs. Gowndry dived abruptly into the basement and left Sylvia to find her way up to Mabel's room alone. Her hostess was in a kimono, Oriental even away from the Hall of a Thousand and One Marvels; she had tied pink bows to every projection and there was a strong smell of cheap scent. Sylvia welcomed the prettiness and sweetness after Lillie Road; her former dislike of Mabel's domestic habits existed no longer; she told her of the meeting with Mrs. Gowndry and was afraid that the plan of living here might not be allowed. "Oh, she's always like that," Mabel explained. "She's a silly old crow, but she's very nice, really. Her husband's a lavatory attendant, and, being shut up all day underground, he grumbles a lot when he comes home, and of course his wife has to suffer for it. Where's your luggage?" "I told you I hadn't got any." "You really are a caution, Sylvia. Fancy! Never mind. I expect I'll be able to fit you out."