“You are not!” Marian’s surprise increased; for Mammy to miss her weekly devotional was almost unheard of. “Aren’t you well?”
“Oh, yes, I’se well, but I’se tired,” Mammy sighed as she reached across to a corner and pulled forward an electric vacuum cleaner. “I’se been a wrestlin’ wif dis hyar contraption ’most all day. ’Taint any use ob talkin’, Honey, de store-man cheated yo’, fo’ dis hyar cleanin’ machine ain’t no good, de vaccium’s done gone out ob it.”
Marian concealed her amusement from the tender old eyes watching her. “I’m afraid, Mammy, you are too addicted to dusters and brooms,” she remarked.
“’Deed I ’spects dat’s so, Honey; an’ ole broom knows whar de dust is.” Mammy followed Marian into the parlor. “Yo’se lookin’ kinder peaked, Honey; is dey aworkin’ yo’ as hard as ebber?”
“Every one works hard these days, Mammy.” Marian handed her hat and gloves to the servant and threw herself on the sofa which stood in front of the window. “I’ll just sit here and rest a bit. You go to bed, Mammy, and don’t worry over this apartment; it is the most spotlessly clean place in town.”
“Yes, Honey.” Mammy carried Marian’s belongings into her bedroom and returned with a light weight summer afghan which she spread over Marian, who had curled up in a corner of the sofa and was lying back with closed eyes. She did not stir and Mammy, with a final pat, stole from the room and went back to her quarters, there to doze in comfort.
Marian lay quietly on the sofa for more than an hour, and when she sat up darkness had succeeded the twilight. Too tired to move, she leaned back and propped her elbow on the window ledge and looked out. The view was more attractive than that generally seen from back windows; the rows of neat back yards, however, were devoid of light and the houses they belonged to were also lightless except the Burnham mansion.
From where she sat Marian could see that lights burned in the octagon-shaped wing of the mansion on several of its floors, and her familiarity with the house’s architectural arrangements enabled her to locate the different rooms. Mrs. Burnham had neglected to pull down the shades in her boudoir and Marian saw her knitting by the aid of a movable standing electric lamp, while Peter Burnham, sitting before the desk, was examining some papers. In the room above only a faint light glowed and Marian wondered if the housekeeper, Mrs. Ward, had left her bedroom and resumed her duties.
Marian’s eyes traveled downward to the open windows of Evelyn Preston’s bedroom, but they were dark; evidently Evelyn was either lying down or had gone to another part of the house. Even as she looked a light flashed in Evelyn’s room and in the sudden illumination she had an excellent view of the white walls of her friend’s room. Even as she watched Evelyn crossed before the windows and a second later the light was switched off. For many minutes thereafter Marian sat in darkness.
The front door bell sounded with such sharp suddenness that Marian started up in alarm. Throwing the afghan aside and switching on the electricity she hurried to the door before Mammy, whose doze had developed into heavy slumber, could pull herself out of her chair. A trusted State Department messenger stepped inside the entrance hall and handed Marian a sealed envelope.