"What are those objects on the wall?" says she, shiftin' sudden.
"Boxin' gloves, Ma'am," says I. "That's the pair of mitts that won me the championship, back in——"
"Has Mr. Steele become a pugilist, too?" she asks.
"Not so you'd notice it," says I.
"Hm-m-m-m!" says she, tappin' the toe of one of her pumps and gazin' around critical.
Not that she takes any notice of me. Honest, if I'd been a yellow pup tied in the corner, she couldn't have been more offhand. I was gettin' warm in the neck by the minute too, and in three more shakes I'd been cuttin' loose with the acid remarks, when the door opens and in blows J. Bayard Steele. I sighs relieved when I sees him too.
"Oh!" says he, gettin' a back view of her. "I beg pardon. I—er——" Then she turns and faces him. "Alice!" he gasps.
"My dear Bayard!" she protests. "Please let's not have any scene. It was all so long ago, and I'm sure you must have gotten over that."
"But how—why—er——" he goes on.
"You wrote to Mrs. Lee Hollister, didn't you?" she demands. "I am Mrs. Hollister."