eputation as "one of
the lucky ones," and she felt that they were wondering if she too had
lost all, and come whining to the "management" for a _viatique_.

"For heaven's sake let's stand out of the way," Dauntrey whispered, "so
every one won't know what we're after." They moved to a little distance,
and Lord Dauntrey began trying to make conversation, but could think of
nothing to say. Long pauses fell. Both tried not to look at the mirror
door, but their eyes were drawn there, as if by an unseen power behind
it. They could see themselves and each other in the glass. Mary thought
that no one could help noticing how anxious and strained were their
faces.

After some moments, which seemed long, the door opened without sound and
a woman appeared. She hung her head, and her face was concealed with a
veil such as Princess Della Robbia had worn when she came to Rose
Winter's flat. A footman with a yellow paper in his hand preceded the
drooping figure, steering toward the outer door of the Salle Schmidt, as
if going to the atrium. He had a peculiarly stolid air, as if performing
a business duty to which he was so used that he could do it very well
while other matters engaged his thoughts.

"_She's_ got something, anyhow," mumbled Lord Dauntrey, in a sickly
voice. "Come along, please. It's our turn now."

He identified Mary with his own interests, as if they were intimately
hers. Politely, or perhaps in cowardice, he stood aside to let her go
before him. Immediately and without noise the door was closed behind
them.

Mary's hands were cold. A little pulse was beating in her throat, and
its throbbing made her feel slightly sick. She looked up, wide-eyed,
into the face of a man who had dismissed the veiled woman, and stood
waiting to receive them.

He was spare, elderly, black-coated, almost absurdly respectable
looking, with his gray beard and mild gaze behind gold-rimmed pince-nez.
The small bare room with its plain desk and two or three chairs made a
bleak background for the neat figure of the man. The austerity of the
closet-like enclosure, in contrast with the magnificence outside, seemed
meant as a warning to let petitions be brief, to the point, and above
all strictly within the bounds of reason.

"What do you wish me to do for you?" As he asked this question, with
cool civility, the benevolent yet cautious eyes peered through their
glass screen at Mary; and the thought sprang into her mind that this
elderly man