She glanced at her wrist watch, twisted about to confirm its unwelcome news by the big clock. Quarter to ten, and no Chris. Norma settled down again to waiting and watching.
Ten o'clock. Quarter past ten. He was not coming! No, although her sick and weary spirit rose whenever there was the rush of a motor-car to the curb or the footstep of a man on the steps outside, she knew now that he was not coming. Hope deferred had exhausted her, but hope dead was far, far worse. He was not coming.
It was almost half-past ten when a bell-boy approached. Was it Miss Sheridan? Mr. Christopher Liggett had been called out of town, and would try to see Mrs. Melrose in a day or two.
Norma turned upon him a white face of fatigue.
"Is Mr. Liggett on the telephone?"
"No, Miss. He just telephoned a message."
The boy retired, and Norma went slowly upstairs, and slowly made her preparations for sleep. But the blazing summer dawn, smiting the city at four o'clock, found her still sitting at the window, twirling a tassel of the old-fashioned shade in her cold fingers, and staring with haggard eyes into space.