"Oh, no, miss; not so werry!" consulting a watch. "A matter of ten
minutes; no more."

No more! She half started to move away; looked toward the house. Brass
plates, variously disposed around the entrance and appearing nearly all
alike as to form and size, stared at her. One metal sign a shock-headed
lad was removing--"John Steele"--she read the plain, modest letters, the
inscription, "Barrister" beneath; she caught her breath slightly.

"He certainly is very long," she repeated mechanically.

"Why don't you go in and see wot's detaining of him?" vouchsafed the
cabby in amicable fashion as he regarded the hesitating, slender figure.
"That's wot my missus allus does, when she thinks the occasion--which
I'll not be mentioning--the proper one."

"Third floor to the right, miss!" said the boy, occupied in removing the
sign and stepping aside as he spoke, to allow her to pass. "If it's Mr.
Steele's office you're looking for! You'll see 'Barrister' in brass
letters, as I said to the old gentleman; I haven't got at them yet; to
take them down, I mean."

"Thank you," she said irresolutely, and without intending to enter,
found herself within the hall. There a narrow stairway lay before her;
he pointed to it; with an excess of juvenile solicitude and politeness,
boyhood's involuntary tribute to youth and beauty in need of assistance,
he told her to go on, "straight up."

And she did, unreasoningly, mechanically; one flight, two flights! The
steps were well worn; how many people had walked up and down here