“Good-evening,” he said gravely.
At first she paid no heed; she was vacantly staring before her: then, suddenly conscious that he was waiting, she looked up at him.
“Good-night, doctor.”
She held out her hand, and he took it.
“I'll get all right, won't I?” she asked, still looking up at him.
“All right—of course you will—of course. But remember you must do what I tell you.”
The other man handed him his hat and umbrella, opened the door for him, and it closed behind them.
The girl remained quiet, sharply blinking her eyes, her whole expression eager, intense.
A murmer of voices, a muffled tread of footsteps descending the stairs—the gentle shutting of a door—stillness.