“No, that would give me away. Take a walk by yourself, and if there is one, get me Browning’s Poems. Wretched, that I must wade through them, when I was getting on so nicely with Tennyson.” Alice laughed at her distress, but promised to go for a walk and find the library, if there were one, and get Browning, if she could. “But suppose there are several volumes? What shall I do? I can’t get them all,” she asked, and Helen replied: “Get the one with that man in it, if it is a man. Sorrento, isn’t it?” “Sordello!” Alice answered, beginning to understand Helen’s drift. Her toilet was completed by this time and Alice thought she had never seen her lovelier than she was now in her Paris gown of some soft, creamy stuff, with its frills of lace and knots of ribbon and wide sleeves, which fell away from her white arms every time she raised them, which she often did, for she knew their beauty. Her complexion was of that smooth satiny kind which suggests art in its perfection. But no cosmetic of any description had ever touched her face, which was of rare beauty. Her greatest charm was in her large brown eyes, which she knew so well how to use and could make grave or gay, or even tearful at her will. They were very bright this morning, with an unusual sparkle in them, for she was on the warpath, with a new kingdom to conquer, and felt her blood tingle with excitement and pleasure. “By the way,” she said, after surveying herself in the mirror and walking before it several times, as she always did when dressing, “Mrs. Mason is here,—a kind of dragon, I am afraid. I hear she is very proud. Did you see her?” “Yes, and she didn’t impress me as proud at all. She was very kind to me. I like her,” Alice replied. “You like everybody, and everybody likes you,” was Helen’s rejoinder; then she said suddenly: “What about Hercules? I came near forgetting him. Who is he?” “Mr. Hilton, the hotel clerk,” was Alice’s reply. “Oh—h,” and Helen’s countenance fell a little. “A clerk! A bartender! I was afraid of that.” “He is not a bartender; there is no bar to tend. This is a strictly temperance house. You couldn’t get a drink if you wanted it. Jeff told me so. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor are both good Christian people, and Mr. Hilton seems a gentleman every way. He is splendid looking and Mr. Mason likes him. He came when we were talking and I was introduced to him.” Alice had made quite a long speech in defense of Mark Hilton, while Helen, who was still surveying herself in the glass, smiled and said, “Oh, hit, are you? Well, I wish you success, but to me there is not much difference between a hotel clerk and a bartender. He did carry me beautifully though, and I’d like to see him. Am I all right, and does my dress hang as it should?” “You couldn’t look better,” Alice said, and Helen continued, “I wish I had a flower of some kind.”