THE MAN IN THE STREET Rachel's perturbation was only the greater from her success in concealing, or at least suppressing it, during the actual process of this singular interview.

You may hold your breath without moving a muscle, but the muscles will make up for it when their turn comes, and it was so with Rachel and her nerves; they rose upon her even on the platform, and she climbed the many stairs in a tremor from head to foot.
And at the top, in the open night, and at all the many corners of a square that is nothing of the kind, from hoarse throat and on fluttering placard, it was "Trial and Verdict," or "Sensational Verdict at the Old Bailey," here as at the other end of the town.
But now all Rachel's thoughts were of this mysterious Mr.Steel; of his inexplicable behavior towards her, and of her own attitude towards him.
Yet, when all was said, or when all that had been said could be remembered, would his behavior be found so very inexplicable?
Rachel was not devoid of a proper vanity, albeit that night she had probably less than most women with a tithe of her personal attractions; and yet upon reflection she could conceive but one explanation of such conduct in an elderly man.
"There is no fool like an old fool," quoted Rachel to herself; and it was remarkable that until this moment she had never thought of Mr.Steel as either elderly or old.

His eyes were young; his voice was young; she could hear him and see him still, so the strong impression was not all on one side.

No more, it would seem, was the fascination.

Rachel, indeed, owned to no such feeling, even in her inmost heart.