Another thought came to her. No one knew that she had found the letter.
The clock in the palm room showed the time to be one-thirty. St. John, she knew, was out of town.
She rose quickly and left the room. At the office Miss Johnson, the stenographer, had just returned from the dairy lunch across the street. She was powdering her rather unattractive nose. Mrs. Perin smiled at her as she entered her husband’s room. Vaguely she envied this homely creature.
The table was undisturbed, exactly as she had left it.
She sealed the letter carefully and replaced it on the top of the little pile of mail upon the blotter.
HOUSEWORK—AND THE MAN
By Freeman Tilden
“And you live here—all alone?” she said.
“It looks it, doesn’t it?” replied Archer, with a little embarrassed grin. “I have a woman come in once a week to clean up. I do the rest—when it gets done. I suppose it looks pretty bad—to you.”
She ran her finger appraisingly along the table and held it up. It was covered with dust. She laughed. “Men can’t keep house,” she said.