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Still Peggy did not come. So he went to a door opposite, and at right
angles to the farthest window, meaning to open it and inquire after her:
lo and behold he found this was a knob without a door. There had been a
door but it was blocked up. The only available door on that side had a
keyhole, but no latch, nor handle.
Alfred was a prisoner.
He no sooner found this out than he began to hammer on the door with his
fists, and call out.
This had a good effect, for he heard a woman's dress come rustling: a key
was inserted, and the door opened. But, instead of Peggy, it was a tall
well-formed woman of thirty, with dark grey eyes, and straightish
eyebrows massive and black as jet. She was dressed quietly but like a
lady. Mrs. Archbold, for that was her name, cast on Alfred one of those
swift, all-devouring glances, with which her sex contrive to take in the
features, character, and dress of a person from head to foot, and smiled
most graciously on him, revealing a fine white set of teeth. She begged
him to take a seat; and sat down herself. She had left the door ajar.


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