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When he looked at you with those weird eyes, you just knew you couldn't fail. The doorbell rang. Rhoda Kane sprang up from the sofa and almost spilled her drink. She was halfway across the room before she realized she was almost running. She stopped. The hand that held the cocktail glass shook.
His ear was too familiar with the ordinary sounds in the house to be deceived; there was in these steps a hesitation or a precaution which evidently betrayed a stranger, and with the few connections they had, a stranger was surely an enemy the one whom he expected. A ring of the doorbell, given by a firm hand, made him jump from his chair.
"What's that?" came in a startled tone from Hinpoha's room. "The doorbell," answered Sahwah, jumping out of bed and putting on her slippers. The other girls were awake by this time, calling to each other. The bell pealed again. "Don't you go to the door!" cried Hinpoha hoarsely, as she saw Sahwah preparing to go down. "It may be the artist coming back to kill us. I've heard of such things.
And he would come out, clasp her in his big arms, and she would stand on the tips of her toes and kiss away the wrinkles between his brows, and they would walk on the lawn and talk about themselves and the miracle of their love. The clock on the mantel struck three. She pouted; turned and stared at it. "Well," she told herself, "I'll wait until half-past four." The doorbell rang.
"I will draw it," said he, standing up in front of her. "Oh, confound it!" This exclamation, astonishing and out of place as it was, was caused by a ring at the doorbell. The ring was followed by a whispering and giggling in the hall, and then by the entrance of the Misses Merrill into the parlor. Curiosity had been too strong for them.
But Miss Wilkeson forgot the fatality which the proverb attaches to gifts or loans of that particular article of cutlery. One morning, as Marcus Wilkeson was idly turning the pages of a blue-and-gold favorite, the doorbell rang.
The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an electric shock. "You will not open the door?" Phillis said. "Do not let any one take our evening from us." But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet. "It is better to know," he said, and he went to open the door, leaving Phillis in his office. A maid handed him a lettter.
Livingstone suddenly realized that something must be done toward supplying these necessities of life for herself and her young daughter, Mabel. It was at about this time that there came a sharp ring at the doorbell, and a stout man with small, but very bright, black eyes asked to see Mrs. Livingstone.
Every time the doorbell tinkles, whoever has this Show is setting a new scene. Or, no. The wall opens and the genie slips through, spreads his rug on the ground and begins to make new magic before your very eyes. Never a doorbell rang yet, I thought, that didn't bring a bit of heaven or hell or mere purgatory with it.
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