The horse will stand until then.
I think I'll have to say good-night, now," he added, with a sudden half-ashamed consciousness of the forbidding aspect of the house, and his own inhospitality.

"I'm sorry I can't ask you in--but you understand why." "All right," returned Demorest, stoutly, turning up his coat-collar, and unfurling his umbrella.

"The hotel is only four blocks away--you'll find me there to-morrow morning if you call.

But mind you tell your wife just what I told you--and no meandering of your own--you hear! She'll strike out some idea with her woman's wits, you bet.

Good-night, old man!" He reached out his hand, pressed Blandford's strongly and potentially, and strode down the street.
Blandford hitched his steaming horse to a sleet-covered horse block with a quick sigh of impatient sympathy over the animal and himself, and after fumbling in his pocket for a latchkey, opened the front door.
A vista of well-ordered obscurity with shadowy trestle-like objects against the walls, and an odor of chill decorum, as if of a damp but respectable funeral, greeted him on entering.