To an impartial observer it might have
appeared that her intellect was growing more active and mature.
More than half an hour passed. It was not a pleasant train of
thought that now occupied her. Her lips were drawn together, her
brows were slightly wrinkled; the self-control which at other
times was agreeably expressed upon her features had become rather
too cold and decided. At one moment it seemed to her that she
heard a sound in the bedroom--the doors were purposely left ajar-
-and her head turned quickly to listen, the look in her eyes
instantaneously softening; but all remained quiet. The street
would have been silent but for a cab that now and then passed--
the swing of a hansom or the roll of a four-wheeler--and within
the buildings nothing whatever was audible.
Yes, a footstep, briskly mounting the stone stairs. Not like that
of the postman. A visitor, perhaps, to the other flat on the
topmost landing. But the final pause was in this direction, and
then came a sharp rat-tat at the door. Amy rose immediately and
went to open.
Jasper Milvain raised his urban silk hat, then held out his hand
with the greeting of frank friendship.
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