"Single, please," said Marjorie, meeker before this woman than she meant to be. "You're Mrs. Cordeen?"
"I'm Jen Cordeen," the woman replied as though, if Marjorie knew anything about the neighborhood, she must know her; so instantly Jen Cordeen discerned that Marjorie was certainly a stranger. "Where're you from?"
"Evanston," Marjorie replied truthfully before she thought; but Jen Cordeen did not press for more personal details; she was all incisiveness and action; she had a broad, capable face, firm and not unpleasing, and white, slightly separated teeth; she had a firm, healthy looking body with strong, well-developed shoulders and evident busts and small hips constrained under her tailored skirt. Her hair, contrasting with her clear, almost white skin, was of that henna shade of red which generally goes with energy, and the hue of her hair was, Marjorie thought, natural; probably she had darkened her brows but, perhaps, naturally they were of that deep, lustrous red. It would have been difficult to find a more vital contrast to the languid Mr. Dantwill, who had crossed out Jen Cordeen's address, but her reaction, like his, seemed to be to refrain from gratuitous questionings.
She picked up a couple of keys and Marjorie noticed with admiration her capable, broad hands.
"Come upstairs," she said and led Marjorie up the center flight of carpeted stairs to the second floor where two closed doors confronted them.
Jen Cordeen unlocked the one to the north which, originally, must have communicated with a living room similar in dimensions to the present office on the other side below; but here a partition had been built in, blocking off the room from the entrance door so as
