"I hadn't noticed we had any Savoys up here!" she said.
Painted over the door of the corner house were the words "Percy's Hotel."
The house differed in no other detail from the rest of the Square.
"I wonder if they have any self-contained suites?"
Mr. Earlforward was about to furnish the history of this singular historic survival, when they both, almost simultaneously, through a large interstice of the curtains, noticed Elsie sitting and rocking gently by the ground-floor window of a house near to Percy's Hotel. Her pale face was half turned within the room, and its details obscure in the twilight of the curtained interior; but there could be no mistake about her identity.
"Is it here she lives?" said Mrs. Arb.
"I suppose so. I know she lives somewhere in the Square, but I never knew the number."
The front-door of the house opened and Dr. Raste emerged, fresh, dapper, prim, correct, busy, speeding without haste, the incarnation of the professional. You felt that he would have emerged from Buckingham Palace in just the same manner. To mark the Sabbath, which his ceaseless duties forbade him to honour otherwise, he wore a silk hat. This hat he raised on perceiving Mr. Earlforward and a lady; and he raised also, though scarcely perceptibly, his eyebrows.
"You been to see my charwoman, doctor?" Mr. Earlforward urbanely stopped him.
Dr. Raste hesitated a moment.