“No,” said Harry, laughing, “I’m sure they’re not crowned heads, but they may be big swells who are travelling in—in something.”
“Incognito, you mean.”
I knew the word from a story I’d read with that title to it.
“Yes, that’s it. Perhaps they’re a young earl and countess.”
“No, they’re not, or they’d have coronets all over their bags, and on their brushes.”
While we were talking, the young couple came in, and went up to their sitting-room and rang the bell.
I went up, and they ordered luncheon. While I was taking the order, Harry came up and called me out of the room.
“Here’s a telegram for Mr. Smith,” he said; “somebody knows him by that name, at any rate.”
I took the telegram in and handed it to the young gentleman. The young lady, who was sitting down, jumped up and watched him with a frightened look in her eyes as he tore the envelope open.
He read the telegram, and sank down on to the sofa.