Like all young, healthy girls, she ate heartily; then she rose from the table and re-entered the little parlor to wait for the coming of Royal to ask him to send a telegram to her mother.
"Shall I show you to your room, miss?" asked the waiter.
"No," she answered. "I will wait here."
"Then here is a letter which has just been handed me to give to you."
She opened it, and found that it was from Royal.
For one moment Ida May looked with an expression of puzzled wonder at the letter which the hotel waiter had handed her.
It was in Royal's handwriting; she saw that at once.
What could he write to her about, when he had been away from her scarcely an hour? He probably wished to remind her to be sure to be ready when he arrived.
"How he loves me!" she murmured, a pink flush stealing into the dimpled cheeks. "What a happy girl I ought to be that my lover loves me so well!"
The waiter had gone back to attend to his duty. She saw that she was alone, and with a quick action she raised the envelope to her lips with her little white hands and kissed it—ay, kissed passionately the sword which was to slay her the next moment.