to her own room. She liked it best in the evening. There was a yellow shade on her light and it gave the room a soft, warm radiance and transformed the slightly soiled, white net curtain into a golden mesh. Lillian went through her bureau, searching for handkerchiefs, stockings, and underwear that needed attention. This would be a good night to wash.
The telephone jangled irritably. It belonged to the house and was operated from a switchboard in the janitor's apartment. The bell had the same whining, put-upon tone as the janitress's voice. Rose answered it.
"It's for you, Lillian," she said, rattling the knob of Lillian's door.
"For me? My God, I'm popular. That's the second call within a month."
Lillian went to the phone. She supposed that it was Louise Casey or Anna Leitz. Both of them half-hour talkers, and just when she wanted to get her washing done, too.
"Hello."
"Hello, Lillian?"
"Yes. Who is it?"
"This is May."
"Who?"
"May. May McCloud."
"Oh, yes. How are you?"
"I'm fine. How are you?"
"Able to take nourishment. Say, I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. I don't know why I didn't."
"Oh, that's nothing. Say, Lillian, what are you doing tonight?"
