"Er—no, suh," answered the waiter, "sutn'y not that kin' o' haiah; an' tall, suh."
"Make mine the same," said Brassfield, "and excuse me a moment, boys. I'll be right back."
The note had said in the lobby, but the waiter guided him to a private room. Brassfield, cautious as usual, by a gesture commanded the waiter to precede him into the room, and himself halted at the entrance, looking about the room for the young woman. She sat near the window, and rose to greet him as he entered—a tall and graceful girl with wonderful eyes and variegated hair.
"I could not wait to give you my congratulations," said she, offering him her hand, "until you came home. We at the hotel are wondering why we have lost you. Let me rejoice with you in your great triumph."
Brassfield's eyes sought hers. His soul recognized this as the queen of those hazy recollections which he could scarcely believe more than dreams, and felt her dominance.
"Thank you, ever so much," said he. "I was just coming up to see you."
"How nice of you," said she. "And in that case, why not go up with me and join me at my supper, which will be served in ten minutes?"
"Why not, indeed!" said Brassfield. "George, tell Mr. Alvord and Mr. Edgington that I'll see them in the morning!"