She closed the door on herself while Granthope walked to the bay-window and looked idly out. It was such a strange sensation, being in the old place again, that for some moments he lost himself in a reverie; then, turning and not seeing Clytie, he walked rapidly to the door and opened it.
She stood there, leaning back against the wall of clothing with a wondering, far-away expression, her eyes staring, her face white, her breath coming fast through her parted lips. He took her hand, thinking that she was fainting, and led her out. She recovered herself quickly and drew him into the front room.
"I saw my father while I was in there," she whispered. "He was looking about the room furtively, as if searching for something. What can it mean? I'm afraid something has happened to him—I'm alarmed about it. I must go right home and see if anything's the matter. I had a strange feeling, like a pain, at first, in the dark, and I was frightened. Then I saw him. Come, let's go away!"
She went up to the Jewish woman and shook hands with her, thanking her for the courtesy. The old lady patted Clytie's hand approvingly.
"That's funny, what everybody wants to see my room for," she said, "but I don't care when I get a dollar every time, do I? Last week they was an old gentleman here, like you was, to see it!"
"What was he like?" Granthope inquired.
"Oh, he was bald-head, with a spectacles and some beard."
Granthope and Clytie exchanged glances.
"He must have been down here for something," she said. "I can't make it out. I'm afraid that there's some trouble. It worries me."
CHAPTER XIX