As Celia opened the door, the one opposite hers opened at the same moment, and a lady came out.
Judging by her figure, for her face was thickly veiled, she was young; she was plainly but richly dressed, and wore a coat and muff of sable.
Her appearance was so strangely different from that of the residents and visitors of the Buildings that Celia could not help staring at her with surprise.

As if she were conscious of, and resented, Celia's intent regard, the lady turned her head away, and, keeping as near the wall as possible, descended the stairs quickly.
Celia and Mr.Clendon neither exchanged glances nor made any remark.
With a gesture of farewell and thanks, he went down.

Half-unconsciously, she stood looking at the door which the lady had closed after her; then Celia shut hers and went back to clearing away the tea.
When Mr.Clendon had asked her if she had fitted a history to the young man who had interested her so much, she had replied in the negative; but now, involuntarily, she began to do so.

Of course, he was in trouble; probably in debt; this beautifully-dressed woman was his sister, or, perhaps, his sweetheart; she had come to help him, to comfort him.
Something in the idea was pleasant and welcome to Celia; he was such a good-looking young fellow; that voice of his, which used to sing but had become silent lately, had a good, true ring in it; yes, it was nice to think that his sister--or his sweetheart--had come to bring him comfort.
She sat down to her notes; but she could not concentrate herself upon her work.

The imaginary history of the young man obtruded upon her; she decided that she would go out for a walk, and take up her work again when she returned.