Just in front of the lift door a tall woman was talking to a little man.
There was an instant of delay while my guide and I waited for them to
move, and before they realized that we were waiting.

"They say the poor thing is no worse than yesterday, however, my maid
tells me--" The lady had begun in a low, mysterious tone, but broke off
suddenly when it dawned upon her that she was obstructing the way.

I knew instinctively _who_ was the subject of the whispered
conversation, and I couldn't help fixing my eyes almost appealingly on
the tall woman; for though she was middle-aged and not pretty, her voice
was so nice and she looked so kind that I felt a longing to have her for
a friend. She had probably been acquainted with Princess Boriskoff, I
said to myself, or she would not be talking of her now, with bated
breath, as a "poor thing."

Evidently the lady had been waiting for the lift to come down, for when
my guide rang and it descended she took a step forward, giving a
friendly little nod to her companion, and saying, "Well, I must go. I
feel sure it's _true_ about her."

Then, instead of sailing ahead of me into the lift, as she had a perfect
right to do, being much older and far more important than I, and the
first comer as well, she hesitated with a pleasant half smile, as much
as to say, "You're a stranger. I give up my right to you."

"Oh, please!" I said, stepping aside to let her pass, which she did,
making room for me to sit down beside her on the narrow plush-covered
seat. But I didn't care to sit. I was so crushed, it seemed that, if
once I sat down I shouldn't have courage to rise up again and wrestle