She did not take off her hat and coat. She wandered through the empty
rooms, undecided. If she went to a movie the rooms would be just as
lonely when she returned. Companionship. The urge of it was so strong
that there was a temptation to call up someone, even someone she had
rebuffed. She was in the mood to confess everything and to make an
honest attempt to start all over again--to accept friendship and let
pride go hang. Impulsively she started for the telephone, when the
doorbell rang.

Immediately the sense of loneliness fell away. Another chapter in
the great game of hide and seek that had kept her from brooding until
to-night? The doorbell carried a new message these days. Nine o'clock.
Who could be calling at that hour? She had forgotten to advise Cutty
of the fact that someone had gone through the apartment. She could not
positively assert the fact. Those articles in her bureau she herself
might have disturbed. She might have taken a handkerchief in a hurry,
hunted for something under the lingerie impatiently. Still she could
not rid herself of the feeling that alien hands had been rifling her
belongings. Not Bernini, decidedly.

Remembering Cutty's advice about opening the door with her foot against
it, she peered out. No emissary of Bolshevisim here. A weary little
messenger boy with a long box in his arms called her name.

"Miz Conover?"