Come up to the next floor when you've got your breath.

I'll go on and light the candles." He left her there in the semi-darkness, the thin light from the landing window just breaking up the heavy shadows.

When she heard him open the door upstairs, she moved close to the window, took a small mirror from her little reticule bag and gazed for a moment at her face in its reflection.

Then from some pocket of the bag, she produced a powder-puff and a box of powdered rouge, applying them with mechanical precision.
"S'pose he thought I looked tired," she muttered to herself as she mounted the remaining flight of stairs.
The room was a bachelor's, but it showed discrimination.

Everything was in good taste--taste that was beyond her comprehension.