Here high-born men were proud to wait,
And beauty watched to imitate
Her gentle voice, her lovely mien,
And gather from her air and gait
The graces of its queen.—Byron.
Alexander went with his uncle and cousin to their hotel.
“And now, my boy,” said the old gentleman, after he had dismissed the carriage and taken his grand-daughter into the private entrance, “let us lose no time in going to the office and securing your rooms. Guests are arriving by every train, and the house is in a fair way of being crowded if it is not so already. Indeed, I fear you may not, even now, be able to obtain rooms here.”
“Heaven grant I may not!” was the fervent, though silent, aspiration of Mr. Lyon, who was almost at his wits’ ends with perplexity.
In the strong hope that there was no room to be had, he let his uncle drag him along to the counter of the office, which was crowded with applicants for accommodations. It was some minutes before General Lyon could get audience with the sorely embarrassed clerk of the house. When he did, it was to receive the answer that the crowded state of the office led him to anticipate.
There was not a room nor a half a room, nor a bed nor a half a bed, at the disposal of the house.