"You know the Van Burnams?"
"Not well. But that don't signify. I know what report says of them; they are gentlemen."
"But Mr. Van Burnam is in Europe."
"He has two sons."
"Living here?"
"No; the unmarried one spends his nights at Long Branch, and the other is with his wife somewhere in Connecticut."
"How did the young couple you saw get in last night? Was there any one here to admit them?"
"No; the gentleman had a key."
"Ah, he had a key."
The tone in which this was said recurred to me afterwards, but at the moment I was much more impressed by a peculiar sound I heard behind me, something between a gasp and a click in the throat, which came I knew from the scrub-woman, and which, odd and contradictory as it may appear, struck me as an expression of satisfaction, though what there was in my admission to give satisfaction to this poor creature I could not conjecture. Moving so as to get a glimpse of her face, I went on with the grim self-possession natural to my character: