Stopping a moment to smooth her ruffled plumage and get her breath, she walked around to the front of the house, climbed the steps, and boldly lifted the great knocker.
It was a dark, cold night, and the sudden appearance of a lady on the doorstep, so far from the station, astonished the footman who opened the door.

He had heard no sound of wheels, and he peered out past her, expecting to see some manly escort emerge from the night.

None came.

But she was unmistakably a lady, and her mourning costume seemed to furnish the necessary credentials.

When she handed him a black-bordered card and asked for Miss Mary Ware of Arizona, with an air of calm assurance and with the broadest of English accents, he bowed obsequiously and ushered her into the drawing room.
In the far end of it Herr Vogelbaum was talking lustily in German to two young men, evidently fellow musicians.