Together they walked into the lobby of the hotel. All of the dancers were elsewhere, but the clerks and the bell-boys were in their accustomed places. Across the lobby, their red badges proclaiming ostentatious sympathy with a war-stricken hemisphere, the boatman and Rosalind Chalmers made their way at a deliberate pace. There was a flush in her cheeks—not of guilt, but of shame. If any one should see!
"Loosen up a little," he cautioned in a whisper. "Act human. Remember you're just common folks now. Smile at me; you're not headed for a funeral. That's better; that's more natural."
They paused in front of the glass case. For a second time Rosalind's glance rested upon her bracelet. The sight filled her with new courage.
Sam turned and beckoned authoritatively toward a uniformed youth who lolled on a bench.
"Yes, sir," said the boy as he advanced and saluted.
"Get some of the other boys or some porters. We want this case moved," he said briskly.
The boy eyed him doubtfully.
"It's to be taken into the ballroom, isn't it?" inquired the boatman, turning to Rosalind.
"Of course," she answered.
"It's getting no display here at all," said Sam, turning to the boy. "The committee wants it where the guests can see it. Hurry up, now. Get some boys."