ris because it was the end of the journey; John and Mary
desired nothing but the moment when with trembling fingers they should
tear open their telegrams in the hall of the hotel. The expedition from
the south did not enjoy a like unanimity; but before following their
steps we may, in the interest of simplicity, land the first detachment
safely at its destination.

When Mary and John, followed by Miss Bussey--they outstripped her in
their eagerness--entered the hotel, a young man with an eye-glass was
just engaging a bedroom. John took his place beside the stranger, and
asked in a voice, which he strove to render calm, if there were any
letters for----.

"Beg pardon, sir. In one moment," said the clerk, and he added to
Laing, "Number 37, sir." Laing--Oh, the irony of things!--turned on
John and his companion just that one supercilious glance which we
bestow on other tourists, and followed his baggage upstairs.

"Anything," resumed John, "for Miss Travers or Mr. Ashforth?" And he
succeeded in looking as if he did not care a straw whether there were
or not.

After a search the porter answered, "Nothing, sir."

"What?" exclaimed John, aghast? "Oh, nonsense, look again."

Another search followed; it was without result.

John saw Mary's appealing eyes fixed on him.

"Nothing," he said tragically.

"Oh, John!"

"Have you taken the rooms, Mr. Ash forth?" inquired Miss Bussey.

"No. I'm sorry. I forgot all about them."

Miss Bussey was tired; she had been seasick, and the train always made
her feel queer.

"Has neither of you got an ounce of wits about you?" she demanded, and
plunged forward to the desk. John and Mary received their numbers in
gloomy silence, and mounted the stairs.

Now Arthur Laing in his hasty survey of the party had arrived at a not
unnatural but wholly erroneous conclusion. He had seen a young man,
rather nervous, a young woman, looking anxious and shy, and an elderly
person, plainly dressed (Miss Bussey was no dandy) sitting (Miss Bussey
always sat as soon as she could) on, a trunk. He took John and Mary for
a newly married couple, and Miss Bussey for an old family servant
detailed to look after her young mistress's entry into independent
housekeeping.

"More infernal honeymooners," he said to himself, as he washed his
hands. "The place is always full of 'em. Girl wasn't bad-looking,
though."

The next morning, unhappily, confirmed him in his mistake. For Miss
Bussey, overcome by t