She got out, pulling her heavy bag after her, and timidly pushed open the little gate, glancing up at the windows as she did so.
There was no one to be seen.
Still clutching at her suit-case, Alex pulled the bell faintly.
"There's half my fare owing yet," said the cabman gruffly.
Thus reminded, Alex rang again.
An elderly parlour-maid with iron-grey hair and a hard face opened the door.
"Is—is Mrs. MacAllister at home?" faltered Alex.
"I'll inquire," said the maid, with a lightning glance at the suit-case.
She left the door open, and Alex saw a little flight of stairs. A murmured colloquy took place at the top, and then Barbara, slight and severely black-clad, came down.
"Alex, that's not you?"