Yet, for some unexplained reason, the fact that the door-bell had rung
once made it more possible that it would ring again, and she began to
feel a slight return of confidence.

A servant opened the door, and in the instant before she turned her head
she had time to debate the possibility of a visitor having come in
without ringing while the messenger with the striped box was going out.
But, no; Pringle was alone.

Pringle had been with the family since her mother was a girl, but, like
many red-haired men, he retained an appearance of youth. He wanted to
know if he should take away the tea.

She knew perfectly why he asked. He liked to have the tea-things put away
before he had his own supper and began his arrangements for the family
dinner. She felt that the crisis had come.

If she said yes, she knew that her visitor would come just as tea had
disappeared. If she said no, she would sit there alone, waiting for
another half-hour, and when she finally did ring and tell Pringle he
could take away the tea-things, he would look wise and reproachful.
Nevertheless, she did say no, and Pringle with admirable
self-control, withdrew.

The afternoon seemed very quiet. Miss Severance became aware of all
sorts of bells that she had never heard before--other door-bells,
telephone-bells in the adjacent houses, loud, hideous bells on motor
delivery-wagons, but not her own front door-bell.