Was she going to cross over?
No.

She turned and began to walk slowly close to the curbstone, reminding me of the time when I discovered her walking near the edge of a ninety-foot sheer drop.

It was the same impression, the same carriage, straight, slim, with rigid head and the two hands hanging lightly clasped in front--only now a small sunshade was dangling from them.

I saw something fateful in that deliberate pacing towards the inconspicuous door with the words _Hotel Entrance_ on the glass panels.
She was abreast of it now and I thought that she would stop again; but no! She swerved rigidly--at the moment there was no one near her; she had that bit of pavement to herself--with inanimate slowness as if moved by something outside herself.
"A confounded convict," Fyne burst out.
With the sound of that word offending my ears I saw the girl extend her arm, push the door open a little way and glide in.

I saw plainly that movement, the hand put out in advance with the gesture of a sleep-walker.
She had vanished, her black figure had melted in the darkness of the open door.