She stood still, dismayed, her hand still on the doorknob, obviously
distressed at the unexpected company in which she found herself.

"Miss Grey ... do please come in ... is there anything I can do ...?"
mumbled Carminow in great agitation, pushing a chair forward and then
pulling it back again indeterminedly.

"I'm so sorry--" began the low full voice, richer in speech than in
song. "I'd no idea--I only wondered whether you could--but it's
nothing."

"Anything," Carminow assured her distractedly; "but please permit me to
introduce my friends ... Mr. Killigrew, Mr. Ruan--Miss Grey."

Everyone bowed, and then Miss Grey said simply: "It was only that my
lamp has gone out; you know there isn't any gas on my floor, and I
remembered you had paraffin for your reading lamp.... I'm so afraid of
the dark. I know it's very silly...."

"Not at all, very natural, I'm sure. You can have the whole lamp, Miss
Grey, but you must let me clean it. It might smell. Yes, please, I
insist. You must sit down here in the light while I do it. I'm afraid
it's dweadfully smoky. Killigrew, do open the window--"

So he fussed, while Miss Grey, with a murmured thanks, sank into the
chair Ishmael shyly offered her and waited very simply, her hands folded
on her lap. There was a simplicity, a lack of any self-consciousness, in
her whole manner, so Ishmael, used to Phoebe and Vassie--neither of
whom was the same in men's company that she was out of it--told