“Now, then, come in here, Shallcross; I’ll go over that matter with you in detail.” They heard footsteps in the hall below; and a door opened and shut. “There, now!” exclaimed Anna. “You’ll not have a chance to say good-bye to him as you go. That is Mr. Shallcross, the ship-builder from Seattle. They will be deep in tonnages and such stupid things for the next hour.” “At least,” said Kenyon, as he arose. “You can say good-night for me--in the morning. I’ll get my coat and other things”--as though about to pass her on the stairway. “But the coat-room is below,” she informed him, hastily. And it also seemed to him that she instinctively barred his way. “Oh, how stupid of me,” he exclaimed. “I fancied it was on this floor. That is why I was coming up in the first place.” “Good-night,” she said, holding out her hand, with an eagerness that was a trifle feverish. “Good-night,” he replied. There was no one below that he could see. The empty coat-room was only dimly lighted. He entered and drew on his long rain-coat and took up his hat. “I suppose there is no hope for it,” he muttered, half angrily. “I’ll have to go after all. I had hoped that I wouldn’t be compelled to--” A murmur of voices outside the partly-opened coat-room door caught his ears. “Billings, get that rug in off the steps. Mr. Farbush will raise the devil if he hears about it being wet. Old Potter threw it out there because he thought that fat wife of his would slip.” A moment later the street door opened and then shut heavily. A man passed on his way to the rear of the house. Kenyon opened the coat-room door wide. All the lights, save one, in the lower hall were turned out; and that one only dimly illuminated the place. “She’ll think I’ve gone, if she’s listening,” muttered he. With his hand upon the stair rail once more in the act of ascending, Kenyon caught a familiar sound. It was the rich rustle of silken draperies; and through the shadows he made out a figure in white, bending forward upon the last stretch of the staircase. He crouched close to the wall, and held his breath. “He has gone,” he heard the voice of Anna murmur. “Oh, how I fear that man!” Then, softly, she stole up the staircase once more, and Kenyon was left alone. He cautiously made his way into one of the great rooms at the front of the house. It was dark, save for what light entered at the windows, from the street. Settling himself in as comfortable a chair as he could find he lay back and began to go over the situation. “So Anna is afraid of me,” he thought. “Well, that is not altogether a pleasant thing to hear. If I were younger I would be inclined to doubt my personal fascinations. And, while I think she meant it in a general way, I’m pretty sure that there is some reason to think that she had a special fear of me to-night.” He crossed one leg over the other and placed his clasped hands behind his head.