e concert, which was to
fill in the pauses between the dances, and the chambermaids timidly
consulted with the lady telegraph operator and the lady in charge of the
telephone, as to whether or not they intended to wear hats.

And so every employee on every floor of the hotel was working
individually for the success of the ball, from the engineers in charge
of the electric light plant in the cellar, to the night-watchman on the
ninth story, and the elevator-boys who belonged to no floor in
particular.

Miss Celestine Terrell, who was Mrs. Grahame West in private life, and
young Grahame West, who played the part opposite to hers in the Gilbert
and Sullivan Opera that was then in the third month of its New York run,
were among the honored patrons of the Hotel Salisbury. Miss Terrell, in
her utter inability to adjust the American coinage to English standards,
and also in the kindness of her heart, had given too generous tips to
all of the hotel waiters, and some of this money had passed into the
gallery window of the Broadway Theatre, where the hotel waiters had
heard her sing and seen her dance, and had failed to recognize her
young husband in the Lord Chancellor's wig and black silk court dress.
So they knew that she was a celebrated personage, and they urged the
_maitre d'hotel_ to invite her to the ball, and then persuade her to
take a part in their volunteer concert.

Paul, the head-waiter, or "Pierrot," as Grahame West called him, because
it was shorter, as he explained, hovered over the two young English
people one night at supper, and served them lavishly with his own hands.

"Miss Terrell," said Paul, nervously,--"I beg pardon, Madam, Mrs.
Grahame West, I should say,--I would like to make an invitation to you."

Celestine looked at her husband inquiringly, and bowed her head for Paul
to continue.

"The employees of the Salisbury give the annual ball and concert on the
sixteenth of December, and the committee have inquired and requested of
me, on account of your kindness, to ask you would you be so polite as to
sing a little song for us at the night of our ball?"

The head-waiter drew a long breath and straightened himself with a
sense of relief at having done his part, whether the Grahame Wests did
theirs or not.

As a rule, Miss Terrell did not sing in private, and had only broken
this rule twice, when the inducements which led her to do so were forty
pounds for each performance, and the fact that her bel