I mean?'

STEVE. 'You know, I hardly think so.'

RICHARDSON. 'Then I'm finished.'

STEVE, disappearing, 'Say I'll be back in a jiffy. I need brushing,
Richardson.'

Richardson, no longer in company, is about to hold a last friendly
communion with the bone when there is a knock at the door, followed by
the entrance of a mysterious lady. You could never guess who the lady
is, so we may admit at once that it is Miss Amy Grey. Amy is in
evening dress--her only evening dress--and over it is the cloak, which
she is presently to fling back with staggering effect. Just now her
pale face is hiding behind the collar of it, for she is quaking
inwardly though strung up to a terrible ordeal. The room is not as she
expected, but she knows that men are cunning.

AMY, frowning, 'Are these Mr. Rollo's chambers? The woman told me to
knock at this door.'

She remembers with a certain satisfaction that the woman had looked at
her suspiciously.

RICHARDSON, the tray in her hand to give her confidence, 'Yes, ma'am.
He will be down in a minute, ma'am. He is expecting you, ma'am.'

Expecting her, is he! Amy smiles the bitter smile of knowledge.