“Good!” Carlyon, in his own exuberant glee, slapped his friend’s knee.
“Sir Archibald,” he went on, “was to come up by the 10:05 from our place, due at Waterloo at 11:49. He’ll be fixed up—“Hail Columbia!” again—at the hotel by this time. That’s where we are driving to now, and—ah! here we are!”
A moment later the two men were mounting the hotel steps. One of the servants standing in the vestibule recognized Carlyon, and saluted him.
“My uncle arrived, Bates?” Carlyon asked.
“Yes, sir, and a young lady with him!”
Carlyon turned quickly to Hammond.
“That’s Madge, my American cousin, Tom. I’m awfully glad she has come; I should like you to know her.”
Turning to the servant, he asked, “Same old rooms, Bates?”
“Yes, sir.”
Three steps at a time, laughing and talking all the while, Carlyon, ignoring the lift, raced up the staircase, followed more slowly by his friend.