No one had entered; no one had come forth.

At half-past seven he took his hat and left the house.
Scarcely had he closed the door behind him when he became aware that a lightly tripping and rather showily dressed girl, who was coming down the other side of the way, had turned off the pavement and was plying the knocker at the house which interested him.

He gazed eagerly.
Impossible that a young person of that garb and deportment should be Eve Madeley.

Her face was hidden from him, and at this distance he could not have recognised the features, even presuming that his familiarity with the portrait, taken more than two years ago, would enable him to identify Eve when he saw her.

The door opened; the girl was admitted.