hand.

The box couch was built of hard wood paneling and
was covered with pillows of soft leather and silk. The
bed-clothes were carefully stored in the locker beneath
the mattress cushion. No one would ever suspect its
use as a bed. The bathroom was fitted with a bureau
and no signs of a sleeping apartment disfigured the
effect of her one library, parlor, and reception-room.
A desk and bookcase stood at either end of the box
couch. The bookcase was filled with fiction--love
stories exclusively.

A large birdcage swung from a staple in the window
and two canaries peered cautiously from their perches
at the kitten in her lap. She had trained him to
ignore this cage.

The crowds below were thinning down. A light
snow was falling. The girl lifted her pet and kissed
his cold nose.

"We must get our own dinner tonight, Mr.
Thomascat--it's snowing outside. And did you hear what
she said, Kitty dear--`More girls are ruined by
marriage in New York than by any other process!' A
good joke, Kitty!--You and I know better than that if
we do live in our own tiny world! We'll risk it some
day, anyhow, won't we?"