y arrested her on the way to the door.

"I've a better plan; these waiters are so stupid you'll get nothing
out of them. Here's the hotel book sent up for our names; let us look
among the day's arrivals and see who 'S.P.' is. He came to-day, I'm
sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, so we could
not have them."

Opening the big book, Amy was soon intently poring over the long list
of names, written in many hands and many languages.

"I've got it! Here he is--oh, Nell, he's a baron! Isn't that charming?
'Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dresden.' We _must_ see him, for I know he's
handsome, if he wears such distracting gloves."

"You'd better take them up yourself, then."

"You know I can't do that; but I shall ask the man a few questions,
just to get an idea what sort of person the baron is. Then I shall
change my mind and go down to dinner; shall look well about me, and if
the baron is agreeable I shall make uncle return the gloves. He will
thank us, and I can say I've known a real baron. That will be so nice
when we go home. Now, don't be duennaish and say I'm silly, but let me
do as I like, and come and dress."

Helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through the house, Major
Erskine marched into the great _salle a manger_, with a comely niece
on each arm. The long tables were crowded, and they had to run the
gauntlet of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper
table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced down the line of
faces opposite, and finding none that answered the slight description
elicited from the waiter, she leaned a little forward to examine those
on her own side of the table. Some way down sat several gentlemen, and
as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she received an
admiring glance from a pair of fine black eyes. Somewhat abashed, she
busied herself with her soup: but the fancy had taken possession of
her, and presently she whispered to Helen,--

"Do you see any signs of the baron?"

"On my left; look at the hands."

Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the
third finger. Its owner's face was averted, but as he conversed with
animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now
lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which
adorned the face of the unknown. Amy shook her head decidedly.

"I hate light men, and don't think that is the baron, for the gloves
are a size too small for thos