“No, thanks, I want the exercise.”
“May I go with you?”
“Indeed, no. My dear Bertie, I’m only aged, I’m not infirm.”
“You will never be aged,” responded the colonel gallantly. He turned away and walked along the arcade which looked down into the great court of the hotel. Millicent was approaching him; Millicent in something of a temper. Her room was hideously draughty and she could not get any one, although she had rung and telephoned to the office and tried every device which was effectual in a well-conducted hotel; but this, she concluded bitterly, was not well-conducted; it was only typical.
“There’s a lovely fire in Aunt Rebecca’s parlor,” soothed the colonel; “come in there.”
Afterward it seemed to him that this whole interview with Millicent could not have occupied more than four minutes; that it was not more than seven minutes since he had seen Archie’s shapely curly head against the curtain fall of the window.
But when he opened the door, Miss Smith came toward them. “Is Archie with Aunt Rebecca?” said she.
The colonel answered that he had left him in the parlor; perhaps he had stepped into his own room.
But neither in Archie’s nor the colonel’s nor in any room of the party could they find the boy.