“Perhaps you’ve come about his remittance. He told me he was expecting a hundred dollars any time. You staying in Sulphurville?”
Sylvia understood that the apparent disinclination to admit her was only due to unsatisfied curiosity and that there was not necessarily any suspicion of her motives. At this moment something particularly delicious ran across the path of Mrs. Lebus’s tongue, and Sylvia took advantage of the brief pause during which it was devoured, to penetrate into the lobby, where a melancholy citizen in a frock-coat and a straw hat was testing the point of a nib upon his thumb, whether with the intention of offering it to Mrs. Lebus to pick her teeth or of writing a letter was uncertain.
“Oh, Scipio!” said Mrs. Lebus. She pronounced it “Skipio.”
“Wal?”
“She wants to see Mr. Madden.”
“Sure.”
The landlady turned to Sylvia.
“Mr. Lebus don’t have no objections. Julie, take Miss—What did you say your name was?”
Sylvia saw no reason against falling into what Mrs. Lebus evidently considered was a skilfully laid trap, and told her.
“Scarlett,” Mr. Lebus repeated. “We don’t possess that name in Sulphurville. Yes, ma’am, that name’s noo to Sulphurville.”