Jane breathed a long sigh. "I—I suppose i—it's up to me," he replied hesitatingly, "to go in." He spoke with very evident regret; then he laughed shortly.
"Don't you want to?" asked Sally curiously.
"No, I don't, Sally," he rejoined decidedly. "I certainly don't. But I want to help you, and therefore I do. It would be hard to make you understand, perhaps, and—"
"I think I understand, Eugene," she interrupted gently, "and you needn't think that I'm not grateful."
"I don't feel as confident as I ought," he said apologetically, "that I shall be successful. What if Charlie won't come?"
"You can tell him," she replied firmly, "that I shall wait here until he does come. It isn't likely that I shall be put off the street."
Spencer did not feel so sure of that as he would have liked to feel, but he did not say so to Sally. "That brings up another question," he said. "Where shall you wait? And what will you do—in case I am longer than you expect? I confess that I am uneasy about you—waiting around the streets—alone."
"You needn't be," she returned. "Of course," she admitted, "it won't be pleasant. I don't expect it to be. But I shall be all right, I'm sure."
He sighed once more and looked at her. "I wish I felt as sure of it as you do. But I'll go in—or try to." He looked the street up and down. "You'd better get in the shadow, somewhere; well in the shadow. Their doorman has sharp eyes. That's what he's there for," he added in response to her questioning look. "Perhaps you'd better not be within view when I go in. We'll walk back a bit and I'll leave you there."
She assented and they walked back until they were out of sight from the door with the dim light burning over it. Then Spencer left her and walked rapidly toward the house. He looked back two or three times. She was standing just where he had left her: close beside a woebegone tree with an iron tree-guard around it. It was a forgotten relic of other days. Her motionless figure could hardly be distinguished from the tree as she leaned against the guard. He opened the outer door of the vestibule. A second dim light was burning here, just enabling him to see the push-button. With a heart palpitating somewhat and with that horrible, gone feeling in the region of his diaphragm, he rang the bell. The outer door closed noiselessly behind him and two electric lights flashed out brilliantly before him. The inner door, which gave entrance to the house, was a massive thing, studded with iron bolts, like the gate of a castle; and at the level of his face was a little grated window or door of solid wood within the larger, iron-studded door. In response to his ring the inner door did not open, but the little grated window did, framing, behind iron bars, the impassive face of a gigantic negro, who scrutinized Spencer with the eye of experience and, having completed his inspection, nodded solemnly. The little grated window closed and the electric lights went out suddenly; and the door opened before him and closed again behind him, leaving everything in readiness for the next comer; and leaving Sally standing alone beside that woebegone tree without.