She paused opposite a shop window, wherein, backed by a half-curtain of heavy green serge, stood three low easels. Two bore sketches, one of an opal dawn over a mass of low red roofs; the other of a lurid sunset above a forest of spires and masts rising from a purplish mist. But the centre easel was empty.
She gave a slight exclamation, and hastily entered the shop. She was not long inside. When she came out, she had her purse in her hands. Though she had a smile on her lips, the emotion in her face was but more vivid, as if fuel had been added to the inner flame.
She did not retrace her steps to the little corner house with the creeper-draped verandah. She went on westward, through the quiet streets at the back of Oxford Street until she reached a long, decorous thoroughfare many of whose doors were adorned with brass plates bearing the names of well-known doctors. Again she slackened her pace and looked at her watch.
Very slowly did she walk past one great house, with heavy stained glass in the dining-room windows, and an elaborate gorgon’s head for the brass knocker. As she drew near the broad white steps, the door, which bore the name of Dr. Thomas Ivery, opened, and a woman came out, hastily drawing a veil over tear-stained features. With a sudden movement, our pedestrian stepped forward and arrested the staid man-servant in the very act of closing the door.
“Can I see Dr. Ivery?” she asked.
“Well, ma’am”—the well-trained servant hesitated—“his consulting hours are just over. Have you an appointment with him?”
“No,” she frankly admitted. “But I think he may see me. Will you ask him, please?—say that Mrs. Challoner of Pelham Street will be so grateful if he can spare her a few minutes.”
“I will ask him, ma’am,” answered the man of the imperturbable face. “Will you wait here for his answer?” And he showed her into the front room with the stained glass windows, of whose glories in the deepening gloom of the autumn afternoon little was visible save one waving streak of crimson like a stream of blood.
To her tense mood, the room seemed heavy with the atmosphere of doom. She wondered whether the apartment had any other uses, whether a happy family ever gathered about the great hearth, or a merry party ever sat around the long dining-table. There were big pictures on the walls, though all she could see of them was spaces of darkness and mystery enclosed by heavy gilt frames. A bust stood ghostly in the furthest corner.
She had not to wait long. The man-servant threw open the door.