'I'll see if her's asleep. Sit thee still,' said Meshach, and he crept out of the room, and up the creaking stair.
'Poor old fellow!' Twemlow murmured, glancing at his watch.
'What time is it?' she asked, for the sake of saying something. 'It's no use me staying.'
'Five to eleven. If I run off at once I can catch the last train. Good-night. Tell Mr. Myatt, will you?'
She took his hand with a feeling of intimacy.
It seemed to her that they had shared many emotions that night.
'I'll let you out,' she suggested, and in the obscurity of the narrow lobby they came into contact and shook hands again; she could not at first find the upper latch of the door,
'I shall be seeing you all soon,' he said in a low voice, on the step. She nodded and closed the door softly.
She thought how simple, agreeable, reliable, honest, good-natured, and sympathetic he was.
'Her's sleeping like a babby,' Meshach stated, returning to the parlour. He lighted his pipe, and through the smoke looked at Leonora in her dark magnificent dress.