Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. “These are her rooms,” she said. "Has any one been here?" he asked. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. ” She looked around the apartment again. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard.
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