Madelon, half an hour after Eugene had left, put on her cloak and hood, and went down the road to Lot Gordon's.

"I want to see him a minute," she said to Margaret Bean when the woman answered her knock, and went in with no more ado.

Her face was white and stern in the shadow of her hood.
Margaret Bean recoiled a little when she looked at her.

"He's up," said she, backing before her, half as if she were afraid.

"I guess you can walk right in." Madelon went into the sitting-room, and Lot's face confronted her at once, white and peaked, with hollow blue eyes lit, as of old, with a mocking intelligence of life.
He was sunken amid multifold wrappings in a great chair before the fire, with a great leathern-bound book on his knees.