Several books from the circulating library were on a small table near her hand. The first she took up was entitled _New Uses for the Will: a translation from the Chinese of Lien Weng_. Involuntarily her glance strayed towards the chimneypiece and the Wedgwood vase. The coincidence made her shiver. She set the book down as if it had been a live coal. Then she got up and began feverishly to pace the room. For one horrid moment she had the illusion again that its four walls were closing in upon her. But it was dispelled for the time being by the entrance of the parlor maid with a silver tray containing tea things. The clock on the chimneypiece began melodiously to chime four. “Is that clock right, Ferris?” The high thin voice, as heard by herself, sounded to Helen quite unlike her own. “Yes, m’m, I believe so.” “You needn’t draw the curtains. I’ll attend to those myself.” “Thank you, m’m.” The parlor maid went out of the room. LIX As none knew better than Helen, it was a foible of the Colossus always to be “on time.” Punctuality is the soul of business, she had heard him say was his favorite aphorism. The minutes ticked on, however, and she listened in vain for a ring at the front door bell. She went up to the drawing-room window and looked down into the Square. The street lamp, just opposite the front door, was already lit. The December evening was fast closing in. She listened tensely for the sound of an approaching car. Her eyes tried to pierce the fog, which after hanging about all day had increased considerably during the last hour. A quarter past four struck. Helen had now ceased to think of anything she did, but proceeded to draw the heavy curtains across the window. And then guided by the bright glow of the fire she went to the door and switched on the light. All at once it dawned upon her that now she would have to meet a fact that as yet had not taken shape in her mind. The Colossus might not come. It was so unlike him to be late. And he was such a busy man, with so many calls upon his time, that something might have intervened at the last moment to prevent his coming. But in that case, she argued, man of method as he was and respecter in small matters of the rights of others, he would almost certainly have let her know. While her mind was busy with these pros and cons the clock moved steadily on. It chimed the half hour. More and more positive she grew that Saul Hartz would not come now. Her mind began to reach out tentatively to meet the new and unforeseen situation. The one hope she had, a desperate and perhaps a fantastic hope, of saving her husband’s life seemed already to have passed away. She rang for the tea. It was necessary to do something, even if it involved a trivial action, in order to keep a hold of the will. The tea was wormwood in her mouth, but she was able to drink one cup. And then, with the walls of the room closing in upon her more surely than ever, she lay down on the sofa.