"You--don't--love--Browning?" asked the other in astonishment.

"I'm sorry, but I don't."

"I couldn't live without Browning. Here's your room: you'll probably
find someone inside. My name's Miss Meakin."

"Mine is Mavis Keeves. Thanks so much."

Mavis opened the door of a not over-large room, which was lit by a
single gas burner. Mavis looked at the four small beds, the four
chests of drawers, the four washing stands, the four cane chairs,
and the four framed bits of looking glass, which made up the
furniture of the room. Upon three of the beds were tumbled articles
of feminine attire; others had slipped on the not over-clean floor.
Then Mavis noticed the back of a girl who was craning her neck out
of the one window at the further end of the room. The atmosphere of
the apartment next compelled attention; it was a combination of gas
(the burner leaked), stale body linen, cheap scents and soapsuds; it
stuck in her throat and made her cough.

"Is that Pongo?" asked the girl, who was still staring out of the
window.

"It's me," said Mavis.

"Eh!"

The girl brought her body into the room. Mavis saw a girl who would
have had a fine figure if she had been two or three inches taller.