They talked it over at some length, and Flossy listened with delight to the description of the beautiful house. This was altogether different from Mrs. Van Wyck's affair.
Presently they arrived at the hotel. Mrs. Osgood ordered the horses to be cared for, and then entered the parlor.
"Can we have a private room?" she asked with an air that Florence thought extremely elegant. "And then our dinner"—
"Will you have it brought up to your room?"
"Oh, no! Perhaps I had better give my order now," and there was a languid indifference in her tone.
"Yes, it would be better," replied the brisk waitress.
"Well, we will have some broiled chicken, I think—are you fond of that, Florence? and vegetables—with some lobster salad and relishes."
Florence had a wonderful deal of adaptiveness, and she almost insensibly copied Mrs. Osgood. They went up to the room, and refreshed themselves with a small ablution, for the riding had been rather dusty. Florence shook out her beautiful curls, and passed her damp fingers over them.
"What lovely hair!" exclaimed Mrs. Osgood with a sigh: it was a habit of hers, as if every thing called up some past regret. "When I was a young girl, mine was the admiration of everybody. You would hardly think it now."