The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. \" \"I'm sorry I didn't call. ” “I understand,” he said, doggedly. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street.
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