He went to the outer door and listened.  There was no doubt that somebody was coming up; any one not deaf could have heard the sound.  It was more strange that Mr. Van Torp should recognise the step, for the rooms on the other side of the landing were occupied, and a stranger would have thought it quite possible that the person who was coming up should be going there.  But Mr. Van Torp evidently knew better, for he opened his door noiselessly and stood waiting to receive the visitor.  The staircase below was dimly lighted by gas, but there was none at the upper landing, and in a few seconds a dark form appeared, casting a tall shadow upwards against the dingy white paint of the wall.  The figure mounted steadily and came directly to the open door—­a lady in a long black cloak that quite hid her dress.  She wore no hat, but her head was altogether covered by one of those things which are neither hoods nor mantillas nor veils, but which serve women for any of the three, according to weather and circumstances.  The peculiarity of the one the lady wore was that it cast a deep shadow over her face.

‘Come in,’ said Mr. Van Torp, withdrawing into the entry to make way.

She entered and went on directly to the sitting-room, while he shut the outer door.  Then he followed her, and shut the second door behind him.  She was standing before the fire spreading her gloved hands to the blaze, as if she were cold.  The gloves were white, and they fitted very perfectly.  As he came near, she turned and held out one hand.

‘All right?’ he inquired, shaking it heartily, as if it had been a man’s.

A sweet low voice answered him.

‘Yes—­all right,’ it said, as if nothing could ever be wrong with its possessor.  ‘But you?’ it asked directly afterwards, in a tone of sympathetic anxiety.

‘I?  Oh—­well—­’ Mr. Van Torp’s incomplete answer might have meant anything, except that he too was ‘all right.’

‘Yes,’ said the lady gravely.  ’I read the telegram the next day.  Did you get my cable?  I did not think you would sail.’

’Yes, I got your cable.  Thank you.  Well—­I did sail, you see.  Take off your things.  The water’s boiling and we’ll have tea in a minute.’

The lady undid the fastening at her throat so that the fur-lined cloak opened and slipped a little on her white shoulders.  She held it in place with one hand, and with the other she carefully turned back the lace hood from her face, so as not to disarrange her hair.  Mr. Van Torp was making tea, and he looked up at her over the teapot.

‘I dressed for dinner,’ she said, explaining.

‘Well,’ said Mr. Van Torp, looking at her, ‘I should think you did!’

There was real admiration in his tone, though it was distinctly reluctant.

‘I thought it would save half an hour and give us more time together,’ said the lady simply.

She sat down in the shabby easy-chair, and as she did so the cloak slipped and lay about her waist, and she gathered one side of it over her knees.  Her gown was of black velvet, without so much as a bit of lace, except at the sleeves, and the only ornament she wore was a short string of very perfect pearls clasped round her handsome young throat.