was plain. I said,
"Well, not plain exactly, but _queer_!" At dinner the same night, we
amended the verdict, and voted her "rather nice". Twenty-four hours
later she represented our ideal of female charm, and we figuratively
wept and rent our garments because she exhibited no interest in our
charming selves. An inspection of the visitors' book proved that her
name was "Mrs Fane," but that was not particularly enlightening,
especially as no home address was given.

But on the third day, just as we were beginning to concoct dark schemes
by means of which we could force acquaintanceship, the "grey lady"
entered the lounge, marched unhesitatingly across to our corner, stood
staring down at us as we sat on the sofa, and said shortly:--

"This is ridiculous! We are wasting time! We three are the only really
interesting people in the hotel; we are dying to know each other--and we
know it! Come for a walk!" And lo! in another minute we were on the
high road, Kathie on one side, I on the other, gazing at her with
adoring eyes, while she said briskly:--

"My name is Charmion Fane. I am quite alone. No children. Thirty-two.
I don't live anywhere in particular. Just prowl round from one place
to another. If there are any other dull, necessary details that you
want to know, ask!--and get them over. Then we can talk!"

We laughed, and replied with similar biographical sketches on our own
account, and then we _did_ talk--about books, and travels, and hobbies,
and mankind in general, and gradually, growing more and more intimate
(or rather _conscious_ of our intimacy, for we were friends after the
first hour!) of our personal hopes, fears, difficulties, and mental
outlooks.

When we came in, Kathie and I faced each other in our bedroom, almost
incoherent with pleasure and excitement.

"_Well_! What an afternoon! My dear, isn't she--" Kathie waved her
hands to express a superlative beyond the power of words.

"She is!"

"The most fascinating, the most interesting, the most original--"

"And she likes us, too! As much as we like her. Isn't it glorious?"

"She hasn't spoken to another soul. How could we have called her plain!
Evelyn, did you notice that she never spoke of her husband? She wears
grey and violet, so he has probably been dead for some years, but she
never referred to him in the slightest possible way."

"Would it be likely, Kathie, in our very first talk?"

"Yes!" declared Kathie sturdily.