The sound of feet was heard on the stairs, then a hurrying along the narrow passage; a hand was on the door, but the key had been prudently turned on the inside.
With a quick motion, Mrs.Bray waved her hand toward the adjoining chamber.

Mrs.Dinneford did not hesitate, but glided in noiselessly, shutting and locking the door behind her.
"Pinky Swett!" exclaimed Mrs.Bray, in a low voice, putting her finger to her lips, as she admitted her visitor, at the same time giving a warning glance toward the other room.

Eyeing her from head to foot, she added, "Well, you are an object!" Pinky had drawn aside a close veil, exhibiting a bruised and swollen face.

A dark band lay under one of her eyes, and there was a cut with red, angry margins on the cheek.
"You are an object," repeated Mrs.Bray as Pinky moved forward into the room.
"Well, I am, and no mistake," answered Pinky, with a light laugh.

She had been drinking enough to overcome the depression and discomfort of her feelings consequent on the hard usage she had received and a night in one of the city station-houses.