As we entered Hailsham Road I saw that a man was standing at the corner. Turning, as we passed, he closely scrutinised both the cab and me. The maidservant answered my knock. Miss Moore was in—Miss Adair out. Miss Moore was better, thank you. She would inquire if I could see her.
She showed me into the sitting-room. A bright fire was blazing. The apartment was redolent of a particular aroma, perceived of my imagination, perhaps, rather than my senses. It was an aroma I loved. I had never seen a room I liked so much. While I was considering that it might turn out unfortunately for the gentleman at the corner, should he show too pertinacious an interest in my movements, she came. With a little flutter, and a little laugh—the sound of which was good—she held out both her hands,
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come. If you'd been much longer, I should have come to you. Where have you been?"
"For some part of last night I was out in the street, watching your window."
"Out in the street! But—why didn't you come in?"
"It was too late to pay a call. Besides—I did make inquiries, and they told me you were in bed, and ill."
