"It's her, sure as you're born," cried the gentleman who traveled in molasses, absent-mindedly abstracting three cigars and conveying them surreptitiously to his coat pocket.
"She's fallen off some in flesh," commented Horace, as with careful presence of mind he drew out his daybook and entered a charge for those three cigars.
"But she don't fool me," said Jimmie, "she can put flesh on or she can take it off—"
"My, how you talk!" shrilled the chambermaid-bellboy, "you'd think you was talkin' about clothes."
"It ain't no different to them," Jimmie maintained. "That's one of the things us detekitives has got to watch out for."
"What do you s'pose she's doing here?" asked the porter.
"Gettin' married again most likely. That's about all she does nowadays."
Patty was still chuckling and choking over these remarks, when the door of the sitting-room opened cautiously and Kate Perry, swathed in her motor veil, looked in.
"Are we alone?" she demanded with proper melodramatic accent.
"We are," the bride answered, "Winthrop and Mr. Mead have gone out for a smoke."