somewhat
contemptuous of the vulgar herd trying to break into their select and
long-established circle. She heard a man saying, with amiable anger:
"Ah'm mahty sah'y Ah can't put you up at ouah haouse, but we've got
'em hangin' on the hat-rack in the hall. You infunnal patriots have
simply ruined this little old taown."

She heard a pleasant laugh. "Don't worry. I'll get along somehow."

She glanced aside and saw That Man again. She had forgotten his name
again; yet she felt curiously less lonely, not nearly so hopeless. The
other man said:

"Say, Davidge, are you daown heah looking for one of these dollah-a-yeah
jobs? Can you earn it?"

"I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a bed."

"Not a chance. The government's taken ovah half the hotels for
office-buildings."

"I'll go to a Turkish bath, then."

"Good Lawd! man, I hud a man propose that, and the hotel clerk said he
had telephoned the Tukkish bath, and a man theah said: 'For God's sake
don't send anybody else heah! We've got five hundred cots full
naow.'"

"There's Baltimore."

"Baltimer's full up. So's Alexandra. Go on back home and write a
letta."

"I'll try a few more hotels first."

"No use--not an openin'."

"Well, I've usually found that the best place to look for things is
where people say they don't grow."

Marie Louise thought that this was most excellent advice. She decided
to follow it and keep on trying.

As she was about to move toward the door the elevator, like a great
cornucopia, spilled a bevy of men and women into the lobby. Leading
them all came a woman of charm, of distinction, of self-possession.
She was smiling over one handsome shoulder at a British officer.

The forlorn Marie Louise saw her, and her eyes rejoiced; her face was
kindled with haven-beacons. She pressed forward with her hand out, and
though she only murmured the words, a cry of relief thrilled them.

"Lady Clifton-Wyatt! What luck to find you!"

Lady Clifton-Wyatt turned with a smile of welcome in advance. Her hand
went forward. Her smile ended suddenly. Blank amazement passed into
contemptuous wrath. Her hand went back. With the disgust of a sick
eagle in a zoo, she drew a film over her eyes.

The smile on Marie Louise's face also hung unsupported for a moment.
It faded, then rallied. She spoke with patience, underlining the words
with an affectionate reproof:

"My dear Lady Clifton-Wyatt, I am Miss Webling--Marie Louise. Don't
you know me?"

L