“I’ll try a few more hotels first.”
“No use––not an openin’.”
“Well, I’ve usually found that the best place to look for things is where people say they don’t grow.”
Marie Louise thought that this was most excellent advice. She decided to follow it and keep on trying.
As she was about to move toward the door the elevator, like a great cornucopia, spilled a bevy of men and women into the lobby. Leading them all came a woman of charm, of distinction, of self-possession. She was smiling over one handsome shoulder at a British officer.
The forlorn Marie Louise saw her, and her eyes rejoiced; her face was kindled with haven-beacons. She pressed forward with her hand out, and though she only murmured the words, a cry of relief thrilled them.
“Lady Clifton-Wyatt! What luck to find you!”
Lady Clifton-Wyatt turned with a smile of welcome in advance. Her hand went forward. Her smile ended suddenly. Blank amazement passed into contemptuous wrath. Her hand went back. With the disgust of a sick eagle in a zoo, she drew a film over her eyes.
The smile on Marie Louise’s face also hung unsupported for a moment. It faded, then rallied. She spoke with patience, underlining the words with an affectionate reproof: