Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/189

 both bed and table linen. The cutlery, spoons, forks, etcetera, for the table, were rather sketchy, but they decided the equipment would be adequate enough.

There were three bedrooms upstairs. Jessica made Elizabeth take herself the bedroom adjoining hers. These things being decided upon, the women started in to dust and to clean—superficially, at least, because it would have taken days, they decided, to give this house the cleaning it really deserved. However, they felt much better after the first layer of dust had been taken off. Now if Mr. Morley should happen by any chance to come avisiting.

Now why had Jessica thought of that? She smiled and shook her head, but could not say. All she knew was that it had suddenly popped into her head. And yet, why should he come she had not sent for him  in fact, how could she expect him to know where she was? And yet, she had that feeling as though she would scarcely be surprised if the door opened and he walked in on her, smiling and glad to be there. In fact, she more or less expected it.

She was downstairs in the living room, at the time, with a view of the front door through the little hall, diagonally, and the door did, in fact, open at this moment. Jessica started visibly, seized the towel that was bound about her head, rolled down her sleeves, threw the towel beneath the table, and gave two or three futile but distinctly feminine pats to her hair, all in the space of three quarters of a second. The door opened wider and admitted the visitor.

Germinal Washington, staggering under a tremendous grocery basket, edged his way in, puffing but cheerful.

“Phew!” he perspired orally and vocally. “Food