doorstep, and fitted into the lock Annesley's latchkey. Then he opened
the door for the girl, and followed her in with a cool air of
proprietorship which ought to have impressed the watchers. A minute
later, if another proof had been needed that Mr. and Mrs. Smith were
actually at home, it was given by a sudden glow of red curtains in the
two front windows of the ground floor.

This touch of realism meant extra risk for Annesley in case Mrs.
Ellsworth were awake; but she took it with scarcely a qualm of fear. The
house was quiet, and there were ten chances to one against its mistress
being on the alert at this hour, so long past her bedtime.

When the girl had switched on the lights of the two-branched chandelier
over the dining table she beckoned to her companion, who noiselessly
followed her from the dark corridor into the room. There, with one
sweeping glance at the dull red walls, the oil-painted landscapes in
sprawling gilt frames, the heavy plush curtains, the furniture with its
"saddle-bag" upholstery, the common Turkish carpet, and the mantel mirror
with tasteless, tasselled draperies, "Nelson Smith" seemed to comprehend
the deadly "stuffiness" of Annesley Grayle's existence.

The look of Mrs. Ellsworth's middle-class dining room, and the atmosphere
whence oxygen had been excluded, were enough to tell him, if he had not
realized already, why the lady's companion had gone out to meet a strange
man "with a view to marriage."

To Annesley, however, for the first time, this room was neither hideous
nor depressing. It seemed years since she had seen it. She was a
different girl from the spiritless slave who had crept out after
luncheon, in the wake of her mistress: that short, shapeless form with