3
It was nearly midnight. The grey of to-morrow morning kept pressing on her attention. She gathered herself together to go, and rose reluctantly. The outer chill came down to meet her rising form. The glow of life was left there at the heart of the circle by the fire. The little man leapt up—Hah, good night all—and pushed past her and out of the room. Mrs. Bailey had made some remark towards her as she neared the door. She professed not to hear and went slowly on in the wake of the footsteps leaping up the dark flights. They crossed the landing next below hers and ceased. When she rounded the stairs light blazed from a wide-open door and a little melody sounded for an instant in a smooth swaying falsetto. As soon as she had passed, the door was violently slammed ... all those stories were true. And the first one about the skating. She imagined the white brow under a fur cap and the square short strong well-knit form swaying strongly from side to side, on and on, ironically winning.