And his voice, with curious delight, broke into a laugh again, as he stood and stamped his feet on the snow, and danced to his own laughter, ducking his head. Then he turned away and ran swiftly up the avenue lined with old trees. He slowed down as a door at the end of a garden path, white with untouched snow, suddenly opened, and a woman in a long-fringed black shawl stood in the light. She peered out into the night. Then she came down to the low garden gate. Crumbs of snow still fell. She had dark hair and a tall, dark comb. “Did you knock at my door?” she asked of the man in the bowler hat. “I? No!” “Somebody knocked at my door.” “Did they? Are you sure? They can’t have done. There are no footmarks in the snow.” “Nor are there!” she said. “But somebody knocked and called something.” “That’s very curious,” said the man. “Were you expecting some one?” “No. Not exactly expecting any one. Except that one is always expecting Somebody, you know.” In the dimness of the snow-lit night he could see her making big, dark eyes at him. “Was it some one laughing?” he said. “No. It was no one laughing, exactly. Some one knocked, and I ran to open, hoping as one always hopes, you know——” “What?” “Oh—that something wonderful is going to happen.” He was standing close to the low gate. She stood on the opposite side. Her hair was dark, her face seemed dusky, as she looked up at him with her dark, meaningful eyes. “Did you wish some one would come?” he asked. “Very much,” she replied, in her plangent voice. He bent down, unlatching the gate. As he did so the woman in the black shawl turned and, glancing over her shoulder, hurried back to the house, walking unevenly in the snow, on her high-heeled shoes. The man hurried after her, hastening like a hound to catch up. Meanwhile the girl and the policeman had come up. The girl stood still when she saw the man in the bowler hat going up the garden walk after the woman in the black shawl with the fringe. “Is he going in?” she asked quickly. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?” said the policeman. “Does he know that woman?” “I can’t say. I should say he soon will,” replied the policeman. “But who is she?” “I couldn’t say who she is.” The two dark, confused figures entered the lighted doorway, then the door closed on them. “He’s gone,” said the girl outside on the snow. She hastily began to pull off the band of her telephone receiver, and switched off her machine. The tubes of secret light disappeared, she packed up the little leather case. Then, pulling on her soft fur cap, she stood once more ready. The slightly martial look which her long, dark-blue, military-seeming coat gave her was intensified, while the slightly anxious, bewildered look of her face had gone. She seemed to stretch herself, to stretch her limbs free. And the inert look had left her full, soft cheeks. Her cheeks were alive with the glimmer of pride and a new, dangerous surety.