It was Bunting's place to go to the front door, but she knew far better than he did how to deal with difficult or obtrusive callers.

Still, somehow, she would have liked him to go to-night.

But Bunting sat on, absorbed in his newspaper; all he did at the sound of the bedroom door opening was to look up and say, "Didn't you hear a knock ?" Without answering his question she went out into the hall.
Slowly she opened the front door.
On the top of the three steps which led up to the door, there stood the long, lanky figure of a man, clad in an Inverness cape and an old-fashioned top hat.

He waited for a few seconds blinking at her, perhaps dazzled by the light of the gas in the passage.

Mrs.
Bunting's trained perception told her at once that this man, odd as he looked, was a gentleman, belonging by birth to the class with whom her former employment had brought her in contact.
"Is it not a fact that you let lodgings ?" he asked, and there was something shrill, unbalanced, hesitating, in his voice.
"Yes, sir," she said uncertainly--it was a long, long time since anyone had come after their lodgings, anyone, that is, that they could think of taking into their respectable house.
Instinctively she stepped a little to one side, and the stranger walked past her, and so into the hall.
And then, for the first time, Mrs.Bunting noticed that he held a narrow bag in his left hand.