second step of her purpose for this morning should lead her directly into one of these apartments, but she welcomed the sight of a real-estate agent's sign to give her excuse for delay.
It was a large, square office room which she entered, with a cashier's cage on one side near the gold-lettered plate-glass window, and on the other, behind a counter, a row of desks with men seated before them, each desk bearing a little brass standard displaying a "Mr." somebody-or-other. From the second desk, a light-haired, thin-featured man of about twenty-five—presumably "Mr. Dantwill"—arose languidly and, slightly adjusting his bow tie in his soft collar while he looked over Marjorie, he advanced to the counter.
"Room to rent?" he repeated after her question, evidently desiring a moment's more time to estimate the purposes of this applicant. "We do not list rooms to rent; but we have buildings with single-room apartments."
"What's the difference between a room and a single-room apartment?" inquired Marjorie, unexpectedly amused.
Mr. Dantwill's calm, pale blue eyes continued to regard her serenely. "Single-room apartments run from sixteen dollars weekly up."
"Up?" said Marjorie, ceasing to smile. "How far, please?"
"I guess we can accommodate you," Mr. Dantwill rejoined with composure, "any distance."
Marjorie laughed and glanced at her list of addresses. "Would you be good enough to give me some idea as to whether these are rooms, please, or single-room apartments?"
He took her memorandum. "You seem to have listed
