At the bureau they were informed that Mrs. Talmage Eglinton was at home, and the party, having been handed over to a bell-boy, passed on—with the exception of the General, who lagged behind for a moment.
“You have a gentleman staying in the hotel of the name of Ziegler, have you not—Clinton Ziegler?” he inquired of the clerk. “Ah, thank you—I was not mistaken then. Do you happen to know if he is in his rooms at present?”
The answer was that Mr. Ziegler was certain to be in, as he was an invalid and never went out. Oh yes; he saw people—a good many, but always in his own apartments, and he never frequented the public rooms. His suite was in the same corridor as that of Mrs. Talmage Eglinton—next to it, in fact. No; the gentleman and lady were not friends, or even acquainted, the clerk believed. At any rate, they had arrived at different times, and he had never heard of any connection between them.
Thanking his informant, the General hurried after the others and caught them up in time to be ushered with them into Mrs. Talmage Eglinton’s luxurious reception-room. The handsome widow, beautifully gowned,
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