Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much.  Jarber explained to me that we were to have some poetry this time.  In the course of his investigations he had stepped into the Circulating Library, to seek for information on the one important subject.  All the Library-people knew about the House was, that a female relative of the last tenant, as they believed, had, just after that tenant left, sent a little manuscript poem to them which she described as referring to events that had actually passed in the House; and which she wanted the proprietor of the Library to publish.  She had written no address on her letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back to her (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might call for it.  She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to Jarber, at his express request, to read to me.

Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to have him present at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy.  To my surprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had stepped out without saying where.  I instantly felt the strongest possible conviction that he was at his old tricks:  and that his stepping out in the evening, without leave, meant—­Philandering.

Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy, stifled my indignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen to Jarber.