The taxi went across the bridge, over the mystical river, shrouded in fog, and turned into an avenue where trolleys crashed by and elevated trains thundered overhead, where fruit stalls did a brisk business with swarthy foreigners; a slum, he called it. He watched from the window in vain to find any place possible for an aunt of Frankie’s to inhabit. Then abruptly the driver swung round a corner, and left the unsavoury turmoil for a dark and quiet street, paved with cobblestones. A wind was blowing from the nearby river, bringing a dreary din of horns and whistles; there was no other sound, no traffic, no footsteps. “No. 226,” said the driver. “Here you are!” He got out, paid the fare with his last bill on earth, and climbed the steep flight of steps to the front door. There was an old-fashioned bell to be pulled; he heard it jangle inside. He waited in the wretched drizzle a long time, then rang again. The house was quite dark and the street too; the blurred lamps showed nothing but glistening cobblestones and pavement, and one stealthy cat slinking past. He shivered and sighed. At last the door was opened and a head peered out cautiously. “Well?” enquired a feminine voice. “May I see Miss Defoe?” he asked. “It’s Mr. Naylor.” “Come in!” said the voice. He entered a narrow hall, lighted by a “Turkish” lamp, a pierced iron sort of thing, in which a feeble jet of gas burned. His guide turned to the right and lighted another gas jet, revealing a vast drawing-room, all the furniture shrouded in covers. “Sit down,” she said, pleasantly. “I’m sorry you had to wait so long, but we go to bed very early, and the servants can’t hear the bell, up on the third floor.” He asked again for Miss Defoe; he had no interest in anything else. “I’m Miss Defoe,” said she. “What can I do for you?” He scarcely looked at her. “I’ve come to _see_----” he said, “to try to influence you if possible to----” “I suppose to go back and let Frankie come to the city again,” she interposed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it.” “I don’t think you realised what you were doing,” he said. “If you had, you wouldn’t--you couldn’t--have cut us off this way, without any warning. It was--absolutely inhuman. Did you know that your sister and I intended to be married?” “She mentioned it,” said Minnie. Her calmness infuriated him. “Let me tell you!” he cried, “that I won’t submit to this. I’m going out there on Sunday and I shall try to persuade her to marry me at once.” “She can’t. She can’t leave Grandma.” “She’s not called upon to sacrifice her entire life to her grandmother, is she?” “No,” said Minnie slowly. She was thinking very hard. Lionel changed his tone.