He turned the card over and examined its unmarked and taciturn
reverse.

Stealthy footsteps on the stairs distracted his studious attention
from the card. He looked up, blinking and frowning thoughtfully, to
see George descending with the wash-pitcher wrapped in, but by no
means disguised by, brown paper. Once at the bottom of the stairs,
this one expressed amazement in a whisper, to avoid rousing their
landlady, who held, unreasonably, that it detracted from the tone of
her establishment for gentlemen boarders to rush the growler....

"Hel-lo! We thought you must've got lost in the shuffle."

"Did you?" said P. Sybarite absently.

"Where's Molly?"

"Miss Lessing?" P. Sybarite looked surprised. "Isn't she
upstairs--with Violet?"

"No!"

"That's funny...."

"Why, when'd she leave you?"

"Oh, ten minutes ago, or so."

"She must have stopped in her room for somethin'."