"The fog is clearing somewhat; Mrs.Bunting," but there was no relief in his voice, rather was there disappointment and dread.
Plucking up courage, she followed him.

Yes, Mr.Sleuth was right.
The fog was lifting--rolling off in that sudden, mysterious way in which local fogs sometimes do lift in London.
He turned sharply from the window.

"Our conversation has made me forget an important thing, Mrs.Bunting.I should be glad if you would just leave out a glass of milk and some bread-and-butter for me this evening.

I shall not require supper when I come in, for after my walk I shall probably go straight upstairs to carry through a very difficult experiment." "Very good, sir." And then Mrs.Bunting left the lodger.
But when she found herself downstairs in the fog-laden hall, for it had drifted in as she and her husband had stood at the door seeing Daisy off, instead of going in to Bunting she did a very odd thing -- a thing she had never thought of doing in her life before.

She pressed her hot forehead against the cool bit of looking-glass let into the hat-and-umbrella stand.