Porshinger played Auction until he had just time to change his clothes and catch the train back to town. The game at his table had been rather stupid—a very colorless lot of hands, no large penalties—and had ended with the score about even.
Pendleton had no opportunity for a quiet word with Stephanie—possibly by her intention—and she went off upstairs with a nod and a backward glance from the landing. Her glance, however, could say much when she was so minded.
"Come in, girls, and gossip a bit," said Gladys, as the four of them were passing her door.... "What did you think of Porshinger, Helen?"
"As an Auction player he is pretty fair," Mrs. Burleston replied. "I didn't form any opinion of him otherwise. It wasn't necessary."
"There is a certain set to his jaw that I don't care for," Miss Tazewell remarked. "He has a trick of dropping it, and then gathering it up and pushing his upper lip back with it. He makes me nervous."
"Did it interfere with your play?" laughed Gladys.
"It disconcerted me. I couldn't keep my eyes off him when he did it—which was about all the time."
"Maybe that is the reason he did it!" Stephanie smiled. "I never observed the peculiarity."
"Perhaps he reserves it for the card table and other weighty affairs of life," Mrs. Burleston suggested.