The girl turned up at the Fynes' house at half-past nine on a cold, drizzly evening.

She had walked bareheaded, I believe, just as she ran out of the house, from somewhere in Poplar to the neighbourhood of Sloane Square--without stopping, without drawing breath, if only for a sob.
"We were having some people to dinner," said the anxious sister of Captain Anthony.
She had heard the front door bell and wondered what it might mean.

The parlourmaid managed to whisper to her without attracting attention.

The servants had been frightened by the invasion of that wild girl in a muddy skirt and with wisps of damp hair sticking to her pale cheeks.

But they had seen her before.