ain't no more reason ter be sure of wot the curick says than ter be sure
o' this. Dunno as I've got ter choose either way, but if I 'ad, I'd
choose the cheerflest."

Dart had sat staring at her--so had Polly--so had the thief. Dart
rubbed his forehead.

"I do not understand," he said.

"'T ain't understanding! It's believin'. Bless yer, SHE doesn't
understand. I say, let's go an' talk to 'er a bit. She don't mind
nothin', an' she'll let us in. We can leave Polly an' 'im 'ere. They
can make some more tea an' drink it."

It ended in their going out of the room together again and stumbling
once more down the stairway's crookedness. At the bottom of the first
short flight they stopped in the darkness and Glad knocked at a door
with a summons manifestly expectant of cheerful welcome. She used the
formula she had used before.

"'S on'y me, Miss Montaubyn," she cried out. "'S on'y Glad."

The door opened in wide welcome, and confronting them as she held its
handle stood a small old woman with an astonishing face. It was
astonishing because while it was withered and wrinkled with marks of
past years which had once stamped their reckless unsavoriness upon its
every line, some strange redeeming thing had happened to it and its
expression was that of a creature to whom the opening of a door could
only mean the entrance--the tumbling in as it were--of hopes realized.
Its surface was swept clean of even the vaguest anticipation of anything