end the next hour
with the Greek heroes. But to make up one's mind to do a thing, and to
carry out one's good intentions are two very different matters. Marjorie
conscientiously tried to fix her thoughts on "The Siege of Troy," but
the recollection of Elsie's radiant face kept obtruding itself between
her eyes and the printed page, and at the end of half an hour she threw
down her book in despair.

"There isn't any use," she said to herself, with a sigh; "I can't
remember a single date. I'll ring for Hortense, and ask her to take me
for a walk. Perhaps by the time we come back my wits will have left off
wool-gathering, and I shall have a good long evening for studying and
writing letters."

Hortense was quite ready for a walk, and really the afternoon was much
less forlorn than Marjorie had anticipated. The French maid had taken a
fancy to the little Western girl, who was always kind and friendly in
her manner, and did not--as she told a friend--treat her as if she were
"_seulement une machine_." Elsie never talked to Hortense during their
walks, but this afternoon Marjorie was longing for companionship, and
she and the maid chatted together like old friends. They were both young
and far away from home, and perhaps that fact had a good deal to do
towards drawing them together. Marjorie was always glad to talk of her
life on the ranch, and Hortense told in her turn of the little French
village, where she had spent her childhood, and of the widowed mother
and little brothers and sisters, to whom she sent more than half of her
earnings. She spoke in broken English, with here and there a French
expression thrown in, but Marjorie had no difficulty in understanding,
and her interest and sympathy for the plucky little French girl, who had
left home and friends to earn her own living, grew rapidly.

They took a long walk, for Hortense was almost as fond of tramping as
Marjorie herself, and it was almost dusk when they at last came in sight
of the big hotel. Then Hortense suddenly remembered an errand she had to
do for Mrs. Carleton, and Marjorie--who was not in the least
tired--declared her intention of accompanying her.

"It is not far," the maid explained; "only to Sixth Avenue. We shall not
be more than a quarter of an hour."

The errand accomplished they turned their steps in a homeward direction,
and were about half way up Fifty-seventh Street, on their way to the
Plaza, when Marjorie's attention was attracted by a ho