"This way, sir," said the waiter, with a waive of the hand—I followed.
"Light a fire, it is very damp."
"Yes, sir."
In a few moments, a rosy cheeked chambermaid came in with a coal box and et ceteras, for a fire. This was what I wanted,—I drew a chair near, and after some observations on the weather, passed on to the probable numbers putting up at the house for last night's ball. "Lots of pretty girls from the country," I concluded.
"Yes, sir, we are still very full, though a good many left this morning."
"Indeed! I danced with a young lady last night, who was staying here, but I cannot remember her name, I want very much to find it out,—do you think if I were to describe her to you, you could tell me?"
"P'raps I might, sir; though often we don't know the names of the people who stop here occasionally."
"Well, this young lady was tall, and very fair, with brown hair, and a very pleasant smile."
"I scarcely think I know any particular young lady like that, sir; there's Miss Jones, and Miss Mary Peters, and Miss Majoribanks, Squire Majoribanks' daughter, all just like that, sir."
Confound it, my description would have suited three-fifths of the young ladies of great Britain.