So I shuts it halfway. Then I gets her a glass of water. "Anything else you'd like?" says I, tryin' to be sarcastic. "The mornin' paper, or——"
"Where is Mr. Steele?" she demands.
"Oh!" says I, gettin' a little light on the mystery. "J. Bayard, you mean?"
"Of course," says she. "He was not at his hotel, and as this was the other address I was given I expected to find him here."
"Huh!" says I. "Gave you this number, did he? Well, you see, this is my Physical Culture Studio, and while he's apt to be here off and on, it ain't his——"
"Just such a place as I might have anticipated finding Bayard in," says she, glancin' around the front office at the portraits in ring costume and so on. "Quite!"
"Let's see," says I, "you are—er——"
"I am Mrs. Lee Hollister," says she, "of Richmond, Virginyah."
"I might have suspicioned that last," says I, "by the way you——"
But she don't give me a show to register any little slam I might have thought of puttin' over. She's the kind that conducts a conversation accordin' to her own rules, and she never hesitates to cut in.