His back was toward the door, but Aunt Jane had no doubt about the
shabby, wrinkled coat and the shrugging shoulders.
She waited, holding her breath. She was not quite sure of her cap--she
put up her hands to it cautiously, adjusting and smoothing it.... The
figure by the table moved across to the bell and rang it sharply.
His face was toward her now. She saw that he was smiling a little.
Aunt Jane nodded shrewdly. Number 16 was better!... From her place in
the dark, she watched the man move about the room. He was humming
softly--a half-meaningless little tune, with a tumty-tumty refrain, and
his face was absent.
A nurse appeared in the door and looked at him inquiringly.