I was breaking the first egg when a knock came on the door, and Miss Harris entered. She came in quickly, the gray fur coat over her arm, a bare hand clasping gloves, purse and a theater bag, all of which she cast on the divan-bed, revealing herself gowned in black velvet.
“Good evening, dearie,” she said, patting at her skirt with a preoccupied air, “would you mind doing me a service?”
I rose uneasily expectant. I should not have been surprised if she had asked for anything from one of my eggs to all my savings.
“Don’t look so frightened,” she said, and wheeled round disclosing the back of her dress gaping over lingerie effects: “Hook me up, that’s all.”
As I began the service Miss Harris stood gracefully at ease, throwing remarks over her shoulder:
“It’s a great blessing having you here, not alone for your sweet little self,” she turned her head and tried to look at me, pulling the dress out of my hands, “but because before you came I had such a tragic time with the three middle hooks.”
“What did you do?”
“Went unhooked sometimes and at others walked up and down the stairs hoping I’d find one of the inhabitants here, or a tramp, or the postman. He’s done it twice for me—a very obliging man.”
I did not approve, but did not like to say so.
“There’s an eye gone here.”