tood within, gazing out at Alan questioningly, was obviously a
servant.

"What is it?" he asked, as Alan stood looking at him and past him to
the narrow section of darkened hall which was in sight.

Alan put his hand over the letter in his pocket. "I've come to see Mr.
Corvet," he said--"Mr. Benjamin Corvet."

"What is your name?"

Alan gave his name; the man repeated it after him, in the manner of a
trained servant, quite without inflection. Alan, not familiar with
such tones, waited uncertainly. So far as he could tell, the name was
entirely strange to the servant, awaking neither welcome nor
opposition, but indifference. The man stepped back, but not in such a
manner as to invite Alan in; on the contrary, he half closed the door
as he stepped back, leaving it open only an inch or two; but it was
enough so that Alan heard him say to some one within:

"He says he's him."

"Ask him in; I will speak to him." It was a girl's voice--this second
one, a voice such as Alan never had heard before. It was low and soft
but quite clear and distinct, with youthful, impulsive modulations and
the manner of accent which Alan knew must go with the sort of people
who lived in houses like those on this street.

The servant, obeying the voice, returned and opened wide the door.

"Will you come in, sir?"

Alan put down his suitcase on the stone porch; the man made no move to
pick it up and bring it in. Then Alan stepped into the hall face to
face with the girl who had come from the big room on the right.

She was quite a young girl--not over twenty-one or twenty-two, Alan
judged; like girls brought up in wealthy families, she seemed to Alan
to have gained young womanhood in far greater degree in some respects
than the girls he knew, while, at the same time, in other ways, she
retained more than they some characteristics of a child. Her slender
figure had a woman's assurance and grace; her soft brown hair was
dressed like a woman's; her gray eyes had the open directness of the
girl. Her face--smoothly oval, with straight brows and a skin so
delicate that at the temples the veins showed dimly blue--was at once
womanly and youthful; and there was something altogether likable and
simple about her, as she studied Alan now. She had on a street dress
and hat; whether it was this, or whether it was the contrast of her
youth and vitality with this somber, darkened house that told him, Alan
could not tell, but he felt instinct