"The room's took."
"Oh!" cried Susan in dismay.
The telephone rang in the back parlor. Mrs. Wylie excused herself to answer. After a few words she closed the doors between. She was gone fully five minutes; to Susan it seemed an hour. She came back, saying:
"I've been talking to my nephew. He called up. Well, I reckon you can have the room. It ain't my custom to take in ladies as young as you. But you seem to be all right. Your parents allowed you to come?"
"I haven't any," replied Susan. "I'm here to find a place and support myself."
Mrs. Wylie continued to eye her dubiously. "Well, I have no wish to pry into your affairs. 'Mind your own business,' that's my rule." She spoke with defiance, as if the contrary were being asserted by some invisible person who might appear and gain hearing and belief. She went on: "If Mr. Ellison wants it, why I suppose it's all right. But you can't stay out later'n ten o'clock."
"I shan't go out at all of nights," said Susan eagerly.
"You look quiet," said Mrs. Wylie, with the air of adding that appearances were rarely other than deceptive.
"Oh, I am quiet," declared Susan. It puzzled her, this recurrence of the suggestion of noisiness.
"I can't allow much company—none in your room."