“There was a loose page in this, Nolan,” she said. “It’s gone; did you see it?”
“A loose page, miss?” said Nolan, with some concern. “Oh, yes, miss; I was going to tell you; there was a scrap of paper blew away when I was passing between the carriages. Was it something you wanted, miss?”
“Something I wanted!” exclaimed Miss Morris, in dismay.
Carlton laughed easily. “It is just as well I didn’t sign it, after all,” he said. “I don’t want to proclaim my devotion to any Hungarian gypsy who happens to read English.”
“You must draw me another, as a souvenir,” Miss Morris said.
Nolan continued on through the length of the car until he had reached the one occupied by the Hohenwalds, where he waited on the platform until the English maid-servant saw him and came to the door of the carriage.
“What hotel are your people going to stop at in Constantinople?” Nolan asked.
“The Grande-Bretagne, I think,” she answered.
“That’s right,” said Nolan, approvingly. “That’s the one we are going to. I thought I would come and tell you about it. And, by the way,” he said, “here’s a picture somebody’s made of your Princess Aline. She dropped it, and I picked it up. You had better give it back to her. Well,” he added, politely, “I’m glad you are coming to our hotel in Constantinople; it’s pleasant having some one to talk to who can speak your own tongue.”
The girl returned to the car, and left Nolan alone upon the platform. He exhaled a long breath of suppressed excitement, and then gazed around nervously upon the empty landscape.