Lucy did not even hear the door open. It was opened very quietly far away in the dimness, at the other end of the room, and the new arrival stood looking in for at least a minute before he could make out whether any one was there. There was no light to show his own figure in the dark doorway, and he saw nothing except the lamp in the first room and the smaller one with its green shade, by which Lucy in her black dress was almost invisible. He paused for a minute, for he had been told that there was some one there. Then, with a bold step, he came in and closed the door audibly behind him. “Nobody, by Jove!” he said, an asseveration quite unnecessary; then threw himself into a chair which stood in front of the table on which was the larger lamp. The sensation with which Lucy woke up to the discovery that a stranger, _a gentleman!_ had come into the room, not seeing her, any more than till the moment when he became audible she had seen him, was one of the most extraordinary she had ever experienced. She raised herself bolt upright in her chair, half in alarm; but Lady Randolph’s chairs, it need scarcely be said, did not creak, and Lucy’s dress was soft, with no rustle in it. “Nobody, by Jove!” the individual said; and nothing contradicted him. It seemed to Lucy that she instantly heard her own breathing, the beating of her watch, her foot upon the footstool, as she seemed to hear in exaggerated roundness and largeness of sound the _thud_ with which he threw himself into that chair, the movement with which he drew it to the table, the grab he made across the table at a newspaper that lay there. “Well, here’s the news at all events,” the stranger said. As he stooped over the newspaper, his head came within the circle of the lamp. Lucy scarcely dared to turn hers to look at him. There was the outline of a head, a mass of hair, a large well-defined nose, a couple of large hands grasping the paper. Lucy’s first impulse was half, but only half alarm; but she was not at all nervous, and speedily reminded herself that it was very unlikely any dangerous or unlawful stranger should be able thus to make his way past Robinson, the butler, and George, the page, into Lady Randolph’s drawing-room. There could not be anything to fear in him; but who was he, and how came he there? And what was Lucy to do? She sat as still as a mouse in Lady Randolph’s chair and watched. Was it quite honorable to watch a man who was not aware of your presence? But then how to get away? Lucy did not know what to do. She felt more disposed to laugh than anything else, but dared not. Perhaps after awhile he would go away. She held her breath and sat as still as a mouse. A _gentleman!_ utterly unknown and appearing so suddenly in a feminine house--it was embarrassing; but certainly it was rather amusing too.