"No! You aren't to run and let him in. I don't want him to think we spy
on him. He's free to come and go as he pleases, but I wish he wasn't so
fond of surprises. It's not fair to me, at my time of life. As I was
sitting down to dinner he walked in. Of course I had to ask him to dine,
though there wasn't enough food for two. However, he refused, saying he
would drop in at the Archdeacon's----"

"Mr. Smith has come!" Annesley cried out, wildly, interrupting her
mistress for the first time in all their years together. "Oh, he will go
upstairs! I must stop him--I mean, speak to him! I----"

"You will do nothing of the kind!" Mrs. Ellsworth leaned out of bed and
seized the girl's dress. Careless of any consequence save one, Annesley
struggled to free herself. But the old hand with its lumpy knuckles was
strong in spite of fat and rheumatism. It clung leechlike to chiffon of
cloak and gown, and though Annesley tore at the yellow fingers, she could
not loosen them.

Desperate, she cried out in a choked voice, "Mr. Smith! Mr. Smith!" then
checked herself lest the wrong Mr. Smith should answer.

But her voice was like the voice of one who tries to scream in a
nightmare. It was muffled; and though the two intervening doors were
ajar--the door of Mrs. Ellsworth's bedroom and the baize door dividing
the corridors old and new--her call did not reach even the real Mr.
Smith. To be sure, he was slightly deaf, and had to use an electric
apparatus if he went to the theatre or opera; still, Annesley hoped that
her choked cry might arrest him, that he might stop and listen for it to
come again, thus giving time for the man upstairs to change his quarters
after the grating of the latchkey in its lock.