Karen was at the kitchen table with classwork spread out before her. Mrs. Havermann glanced at her briefly, then looked quickly around the room. Karen’s eyes seemed red and swollen. Mrs. Havermann wondered momentarily if Karen could be coming down with a cold. “Well, it’s a nice bright day,” Mrs. Havermann said, going to the kitchen range. There was coffee hot in the percolator and Mrs. Havermann poured herself a cup of it. “What would you like for breakfast today, Karen?”

“Whatever you’d like, Aunt Maude.” Karen was gathering up her books and papers. Her manner was dull and depressed. She put the books into a locker and took dishes and silver from another cupboard.

The exchange was so routine that Mrs. Havermann would have been astonished had Karen actually offered a preference in food. She carried her cup of coffee to a window and stood there to drink it while looking out at the sky. The sun bathed the yard in bright morning light. Frowning, Mrs. Havermann noticed that the lawn between the house and garage had a trampled appearance, and this annoyed and puzzled her. She sipped at the coffee and thought about it. She didn’t speak of her impression to Karen but decided to go out after breakfast and look more closely at the area. Suddenly she thought again of the locksmith’s notice and an odd alarm ran through her.

When the coffee was gone she set the cup on the table, went to the refrigerator, took out a bowl of leftover cereal, two small eggs, and a package of bacon. At the stove she reheated the oatmeal, boiled the eggs, fried two slices of bacon.

Karen was abnormally listless and untalkative, and her obvious depression penetrated even Mrs. Havermann’s aloofness. But Mrs. Havermann at once dismissed it from her mind; she wanted to think about the trampled grass and other household matters. Biting into her breakfast toast, she said, “I’m going into town today.”

Karen showed a trace of curiosity. “Downtown?”

“Not into downtown L.A. It’s just too far. I have an errand a few blocks from here. The shopping center.”

Karen nodded indifferently. Her unhappy melancholy was so obvious that for once Mrs. Havermann almost reversed her attitude of cheerful inattention, almost asked Karen what was wrong. But habit was ingrained. Instead she urged on the girl a second cup of coffee.

She would not have dreamed of explaining to Karen that she was thinking of putting a new lock on Stolz’s door. As it was now, the door was fastened by the primitive apparatus installed when the house was built—fifty years, she thought, if it was a day. She’d had a terrible time locating a key for it. For her own peace of mind, best to reinforce it with something new.