As far as the inhabitants of “Wallater’s” were concerned, they clattered over the cement flooring of the vestibule in the mornings, on their way to work, without pausing to cast an eye of criticism upon its general aspect of uncomeliness, and dragged tired feet across it in an evening with no other thought but that of how many weary steps there were to climb before the room which served as “home” should be attained.

But to the well-dressed, middle-aged man who now paused, half in doubt, on the threshold of the Buildings, the sordid-looking vestibule, with its bare floor and drab-coloured walls, presented an epitome of desolation.

His keen blue eyes, in one of which was stuck a monocle attached to a broad black ribbon, rested appraisingly upon the ascending spiral of the stone stairway that vanished into the gloomy upper reaches of the Building.

Against this chill background there suddenly took shape in his mind the picture of a spacious room, fragrant with the scent of roses—­a room full of mellow tints of brown and gold, athwart which the afternoon sunlight lingered tenderly, picking out here the limpid blue of a bit of old Chinese “blue-and-white,” there the warm gleam of polished copper, or here again the bizarre, gem-encrusted image of an Eastern god.  All that was rare and beautiful had gone to the making of the room, and rarer and more beautiful than all, in the eyes of the man whose memory now recalled it, had been the woman to whom it had belonged, whose loveliness had glowed within it like a jewel in a rich setting.

With a mental jolt his thoughts came back to the present, to the bare, commonplace ugliness of Wallater’s Buildings.

“My God!” he muttered.  “Pauline—­here!”

Then with swift steps he began the ascent of the stone steps, gradually slackening in pace until, when he reached the summit and stood facing that door behind which a woman watched and waited, he had perforce to pause to regain his breath, whilst certain twinges in his right knee reminded him that he was no longer as young as he had been.

In answer to his knock a low voice bade him enter, and a minute later he was standing in the quiet little room, his eyes gazing levelly into the feverish dark ones of the woman who had risen at his entrance.

“So!” she said, while an odd smile twisted her bloodless lips.  “You have come, after all.  Sometimes—­I began to doubt if you would.  It is days—­an eternity since I sent for you.”

“I have been away,” he replied simply.  “And my mail was not forwarded.  I came directly I received the ring—­at once, as I told you I should.”

“Well, sit down and let us talk”—­impatiently—­“it doesn’t matter—­nothing matters since you have come in time.”

“In time?  What do you mean?  In time for what?  Pauline, tell me”—­advancing a step—­“tell me, in God’s Name, what are you doing in this place?” He glanced significantly round the shabby room with its threadbare carpet and distempered walls.