A man coming out of the shadows of the Covent Garden Market stopped as he passed down King Street and gazed up at the window.
For five minutes he stood and watched her, assuming, by looking up and down the street when anybody passed him by, the attitude of a person who is waiting for some one.
It is impossible to say whether it is really the woman herself, or a combination of the woman and the moment, which seizes and drags a man's attention towards her.

In this case it may have been the combined result of the two.

The girl was pretty.

In the ray of that electric light, the soft, childish outline of her face and the pale, sensuous strands of her hair were probably lent a glamour such as that given by the footlights.

The man, too, was on his way back to companionless chambers.