A man’s figure paused on the pavement at the outer door. “ Mr. Eugene Wrayburn, ain’t it?” said Miss Wren.

“So I am told,” was the answer.

“You may come in, if you’re good.”

“I am not good,” said Eugene, “but I’ll come in.”

He gave his hand to Jenny Wren, and he gave his hand to Lizzie, and he stood leaning by the door at Lizzie’s side. He had been strolling with his cigar, he said, (it was smoked out and gone by this time,) and he had strolled round to return in that direction that he might look in as he passed. Had she not seen her brother tonight?

“Yes,” said Lizzie, whose manner was a little troubled.