"Why not go to the Adelphi? All Americans go there, and I think it the best hotel in the city," said Claudia. "The Crown and Miter will serve our turn," was the curt reply of the viscount. Claudia looked up in surprise at the brusqueness of his answer, and then ventured the opinion: "It is a first-class hotel, of course?" "Humph!" answered his lordship. They left the respectable-looking street through which they were driving and turned into a narrow by-street and drove through a perfect labyrinth of narrow lanes and alleys, made hideous by dilapidated and dirty buildings and ragged and filthy people, until at last they reached a dark, dingy-looking inn, whose creaking sign bore in faded letters: "The Crown and Miter." "It is not here that you are taking me, Lord Vincent?" exclaimed Claudia in surprise and displeasure, as her eyes fell upon this house and sign. "It certainly is, Lady Vincent," replied his lordship, with cool civility, as he handed her out of the cab. "Why this--this is worse than the tavern you took me to in New York. I never was in such a house before in all my life." "It will have all the attractions of novelty, then." "Lord Vincent, I do beg that you will not take me into this squalid place," she said shrinking back. "You might find less attractive places than this in the length and breadth of the island," he replied, as he drew her hand within his arm and led her into the house. They found themselves in a narrow passage, with stained walls, worn oil-cloth, and a smell of meat, onions, and smoke. "Oh!" exclaimed Claudia, in irrepressible disgust. "You will get used to these little inconveniences after a while, my dear," said his lordship. A man with a greasy white apron and a soiled napkin approached them and bowed. "A bedroom and parlor, and supper immediately," was Lord Vincent's order to this functionary. "Yes, sir. We can be happy to accommodate you, sir, with a bedroom; the parlor, sir, is out of our power; we having none vacant at the present time; but to-morrow, sir--" began the polite waiter, when Lord Vincent cut him short with: "Show us into the bedroom, then." "Yes, sir." And bowing, the waiter went before them up the narrow stairs and led them into a dusky, fady, gloomy-looking chamber, whose carpet, curtains, and chair coverings seemed all of mingled hues of browns and grays, and from their fadiness and dinginess almost indescribable in color. The waiter set the candle on the tall wooden mantelpiece and inquired: "What would you please to order for supper?" "What will you have, madam?" inquired Lord Vincent, referring to Claudia. "Nothing on earth, in this horrid place! I am heart-sick," she added, in a low, sad tone. "The lady will take nothing. You may send me a beefsteak and a bottle of Bass' pale ale," said his lordship, seemingly perfectly careless as to Claudia's want of appetite. "Yes, sir; shall I order it served in the coffee room?"