an elevator near at hand, he had noticed, but he preferred the stairs.
One or two of the colored boys clustered about the foot of the stairs
looked at him, and he had a moment of dreadful apprehension lest they
should stop his progress. Nothing was said, and he went on. The numbers
on the first floor were not what he wanted, and after some wandering
about he ascended to the next, and then to the third. Every now and then
he encountered attendants, but intuitively he bore himself with an air
of knowing what he was about which protected him from inquiry.

Finally he came upon the hall-way he sought. Passing along, he found
the doors bearing the numbers he had memorized so well. They were quite
close together, and there was nothing to help him guess which belonged
to the parlor. He hesitated, gazing wistfully from one to the other. In
the instant of indecision, even while his alert ear caught the sound of
feet coming along toward the passage in which he stood, a thought came
to quicken his resolve. It became apparent to him that his discovery
gave him a certain new measure of freedom with Celia, a sort of right to
take things more for granted than heretofore. He chose a door at random,
and rapped distinctly on the panel.

"Come!"

The voice he knew for Celia's. The single word, however, recalled
the usage of Father Forbes, which he had noted more than once at the
pastorate, when Maggie had knocked.

He straightened his shoulders, took his hat off, and pushed open the
door. It WAS the parlor--a room of sofas, pianos, big easy-chairs, and
luxurious bric-a-brac. A tall woman was walking up and down in it, with
bowed head. Her back was at the moment toward him; and he looked at her,