Her lips were drawn together, her brows were slightly wrinkled; the self-control which at other times was agreeably expressed upon her features had become rather too cold and decided.

At one moment it seemed to her that she heard a sound in the bedroom--the doors were purposely left ajar--and her head turned quickly to listen, the look in her eyes instantaneously softening; but all remained quiet.
The street would have been silent but for a cab that now and then passed--the swing of a hansom or the roll of a four-wheeler--and within the buildings nothing whatever was audible.
Yes, a footstep, briskly mounting the stone stairs.

Not like that of the postman.

A visitor, perhaps, to the other flat on the topmost landing.
But the final pause was in this direction, and then came a sharp rat-tat at the door.

Amy rose immediately and went to open.
Jasper Milvain raised his urban silk hat, then held out his hand with the greeting of frank friendship.