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VIII
VIII About five o’clock she hurried back to the hotel, demanding feverishly at the desk if there had been a telephone message for her. To her profound disappointment there was nothing. A minute after she had entered her room the phone rang. “This is Scott Kimberly.” At the words a call to battle echoed in her heart. “Oh, how do you do?” Her tone implied that she had almost forgotten him. It was not frigid—it was merely casual. As she answered the inevitable question as to the hour when she had arrived, a warm glow spread over her. Now that, from a personification of all the riches and pleasure she craved, he had materialized as merely a male voice over the telephone, her confidence became strengthened. Male voices were male voices. They could be managed; they could be made to intone
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