From her crack, Aunt Jane could see the table and the shaded light on it and a man standing by the table looking down.
[XXXVI]
His back was toward the door, but Aunt Jane had no doubt about the shabby, wrinkled coat and the shrugging shoulders.
She waited, holding her breath. She was not quite sure of her cap—she put up her hands to it cautiously, adjusting and smoothing it.... The figure by the table moved across to the bell and rang it sharply.
His face was toward her now. She saw that he was smiling a little.
Aunt Jane nodded shrewdly. Number 16 was better!... From her place in the dark, she watched the man move about the room. He was humming softly—a half-meaningless little tune, with a tumty-tumty refrain, and his face was absent.
A nurse appeared in the door and looked at him inquiringly.
He glanced at her. "I want Mrs. Holbrook—yes."