only daughter of the late Nathaniel Blessington, millionaire
founder of the great Blessington chain of department stores.
Although much sought after on account of the immense property into
control of which she is to come on her twenty-fifth birthday, Miss
Blessington contrived to escape matrimonial entanglement until last
January, when Brian Shaynon, her guardian and executor of the
Blessington estate, gave out the announcement of her engagement to
his son, Bayard Shaynon. This engagement was whispered to be
distasteful to the young woman, who is noted for her independent
and spirited nature; and it is now persistently being rumoured that
she had demonstrated her disapproval by disappearing mysteriously
from the knowledge of her guardian. It is said that nothing has
been known of her whereabouts since about the 1st of March, when
she left her home in the Shaynon mansion on Fifth Avenue,
ostensibly for a shopping tour. This was flatly contradicted this
morning by Brian Shaynon, who in an interview with a reporter for
the EVENING JOURNAL declared that his ward sailed for Europe
February 28th on the _Mauretania_, and has since been in constant
communication with her betrothed and his family. He also denied
having employed detectives to locate his ward. The sailing list of
the _Mauretania_ fails to give the name of Miss Blessington on the
date named by Mr. Shaynon.
Refolding the paper, P. Sybarite returned it without comment.
"Well?" George demanded anxiously.
"Well?"
"Ain't you hep yet?" George betrayed some little exasperation in
addition to his disappointment.
"Hep?" P. Sybarite iterated wonderingly.
"Hep's the word," George affirmed: "John W. Hep, of the well-known
family of that name--very closely related to the Jeremiah Wises. Yunno
who I mean, don't you?"
"Sorry," said P. Sybarite sadly: "I'm not even distinctly connected
with either family."
"You mean you don't make me?"
"God forestalled me there," protested P. Sybarite piously.
"Inscrutable!"
Impatiently brushing aside this incoherent observation, George slapped
the folded paper resoundingly in the palm of his hand.
"Then this here don't mean nothin' to you?"
"To me--nothing, as you say."
"You ain't dropped to the resemblance between Molly Lessing and Marian
Blessington?"
"Between Miss Lessing and _that_ portrait?" asked P. Sybarite
scornfully.
"Why, they're dead ringers for each other. Any one what can't see
that's blind."
"But I'm _not_ blind."
"Well, then you gotta admit they look alike as twins--"
"But I've known twins who didn't look alike," said P.S.
"Ah, nix on the stallin'!" George insisted, on the verge of losing his
temper. "Molly Lessing's the spit-'n'-image of Marian Blessington--and
you know it. What's more--look at their names? _Molly_ for _Mary_--you
make that? _Mary_ and _Marian's_ near enough alike, ain't they? And
what's _Lessing_ but _Blessington_ docked goin' and comin'?"
"Wait a second. If I understand you, George, you're trying to imply
that Miss Lessing is identical with Marian Blessington."
"You said somethin' then, all right."
"Simply because of the similarity of two syllables in their surnames
and a fancied resemblance of Miss Lessing to this so-called portrait?"
"Now you're gettin' warm, P.S."
P.S. laughed quietly: "George, I've been doing you a grave injustice.
I apologise."