The cat took not the least notice of this remark or of the fingers that caressed him; but it did impinge upon the consciousness of Miss Gault’s visitor that this singular woman’s hands were of a surprising beauty.

“What are the names of the others?” Solent enquired.

“The black one is Mark,” replied the lady.

“And the white one Luke?” he hazarded.

She nodded; and then, quite suddenly, with an effort as though a gust of wind had swept aside a mass of dead leaves, uncovering the fresh verdure below, her whole face relaxed into a smile of disarming sweetness.

“I’ve never had a John,” she said. “And I never will.”