"I expect you have.

It's the sort of thing a man would do--ring the wrong bell and then say he's sorry." "I didn't go as far as that," I retorted.

"It seems to have had the desired effect, and I've made your acquaintance into the bargain." "Whom do you want to see ?" she asked.
"Mr.Bellingham." "Are you the doctor ?" "I am _a_ doctor." "Follow me upstairs," said Miss Oman, "and don't tread on the paint." I crossed the spacious hall, and, preceded by my conductress, ascended a noble oak staircase, treading carefully on a ribbon of matting that ran up the middle.

On the first-floor landing Miss Oman opened a door and, pointing to the room, said: "Go in there and wait; I'll tell her you're here." "I said _Mr_.

Bellingham--" I began; but the door slammed on me, and Miss Oman's footsteps retreated rapidly down the stairs.
It was at once obvious to me that I was in a very awkward position.