Then she heard a brisk rattle from the telephone-box near the door.
She dropped her pen and went across the room and put the receiver to her ear.
“Yes—I’m Mrs. Randolph,” she said. “Yes—I’m at home. Yes. Have Mr. Stone shown up to my parlor.”
Then she replaced the receiver and stood for a moment in thought. She went back to the desk and closed her portfolio, with the unfinished letter inside. She changed the position of the bowl of violets and brought it into the full light. She glanced about the room to see if it was in order; and she crossed to the fireplace and looked at herself in the mirror above.
“I do wish I had slept better last night,” she said to herself. “I always show it so round the eyes.”
She crossed swiftly to the door which opened into the next room.
“Jemima!” she called.
“Yes, Miss Evelyn,” responded a voice from within.
“Mr. Stone is coming up—and my hair is all wrong. I simply must do it over. You tell him I’ll be here in a minute.”
“Yes, Miss Evelyn,” was the answer.