But as Alice went up the many steps towards the gloomy entrance, she felt unaccountably somewhat less assured. There was no mistaking the house, because a policeman had directed her to the very steps; and with some surprise she noticed there was no plate explaining the doctor’s whereabouts. “Let’s see,” said Alice to herself. “A doctor writes ‘doctor’ before his name. And what are those other men--‘surgeons’? They’ve less about them, I believe, because they’re plain Mister. Perhaps he’s a surgeon, and so doesn’t trouble about putting it outside. Private means, maybe.” With the assurance, therefore, of ignorance, she advanced and rang the bell. The door was opened swiftly, noiselessly, and inside stood one--not Everard, but one trained to a silent perfection, even as he. “Can I see the doctor?” It was well or ill for Alice that at this moment she remembered the card--Timothy’s card that Marigold had given her when she should have come to Marble House before, on Timothy’s pathetic little message. It was still in her pocket, neatly wrapped in white paper just as then, and, with the instinct that she wasn’t going to get in, and with the firm determination that she would do so, she produced it. It had the decided effect, when he had looked at it back and front, of admitting her into the large hall with which you are already well acquainted. And he went off to the west wing, leaving her sitting on an uncomfortably high chair, and everything around quite dark and gloomy. “Poor man!” said she, with that ignorant pity we so often feel for our neighbours. “No wife, therefore no taste! Now, who in their right senses would furnish a house like this? Plenty of money--piles, I should say, from the look of things--but nothing homely. Rather have the cottage than this! Now, if only the Princess would take a fancy to him--make love to _him_ instead of to his holiness--all this would be kicked out of the door in a month’s time, or--or made to look different. A very good idea! I’ll work upon it. He’s taken an interest in her ever since the first--I know, because I’ve seen him looking at her--but she was so taken up with Patches she never saw; and, besides, a sensible man never did interest her--never any one, unless she could be mimicking about like them.” Here the doorkeeper re-entered the hall. “The Master is busy. He cannot see you.” The tone was as brusque and decided as possible, but Alice, being in earnest, paid no heed to it. “I _must_ see him. It’s very important. Something very serious has happened.” “It is no use, I’m afraid. He cannot see you.” “But he must--I really must see him. It is about something that happened this morning, and he knows nothing about it at all.” “I should advise you to go.” “I won’t go,” she said stubbornly. “If you won’t go,” said he politely, “the only thing I can do is to go back and get orders to put you out forcibly.”