nburgh.
Dolores had been in both these cities and knew the type, and as it was
not a specially interesting type she soon diverted her gaze from the
unknown and resumed attentively her table of figures. But she had not
given many seconds to their consideration when her attention was again
diverted. A four-wheeled cab had driven up to the door with a
considerable pile of luggage on it. There was nothing very remarkable in
that. The arrival of a cab loaded with luggage was an event of hourly
occurrence at Paulo's Hotel, and quite unlikely to arouse any especial
interest in the mind of Miss Dolores. What, however, did languidly
arouse her interest, did slightly stir her surprise, was that the
smooth-shaven patroller of the opposite side of the way immediately
crossed the road as the cab drew up, and standing by the side of the cab
door proceeded to greet the occupant of the cab. Even that was not very
much out of the way, and yet Dolores was sufficiently interested to lay
down her pen and to see who should emerge from the vehicle, around which
now the usual little guard of hotel porters had gathered.

A big man got out of the cab, a big man with a blonde beard and amiable
spectacles. He carried under his arm a large portfolio, and in each hand
he carried a collection of books belted together in a hand-strap. He was
enveloped in a long coat, and his appearance and the appearance of his
luggage suggested that he had travelled, and even from some considerable
distance.

Curiosity is often an inexplicable thing, even to the curious, and
certainly Dolores would have been hard put to it to explain why she felt
any curiosity about the new arrival and the man who had so patiently
awaited him. But she did feel curious, and mingled with her curiosity
was a vague sense of something like compassion, if not exactly of pity,
for she knew very well that at that moment the hotel was very full, and
that the new-comer would have to put up with rather uncomfortable
quarters if he were lucky enough to get any at all. The sense of
curiosity was, however, stronger than her sense of compassion, and she
ran rapidly down stairs by her own private stair and slipped into the
little room at the back of the hotel office, where either her father or
her mother was generally to be found. At this particular moment, as it
happened, neither her father nor mother was in the little room. The door
communicating with the office stood slightly ajar, and Dolores,