She had awakened that morning with the keen air of the mountains in her nostrils--the air she had breathed in when she was born, and her eyes shone happily when she saw through her window the loved blue hills along which raced the train. They were only a little way from the town where she must change, the porter said; she had overslept and she had no time even to wash her face and hands, and that worried her a good deal. The porter nearly lost his equilibrium when she gave him half a dollar--for women are not profuse in the way of tipping--and instead of putting her bag down on the station platform, he held it in his hand waiting to do her further service. At the head of the steps she searched about for Hale and her lovely face looked vexed and a little hurt when she did not see him. “Hotel, Miss?” said the porter. “Yes, please, Harvey!” she called. An astonished darky sprang from the line of calling hotel-porters and took her bag. Then every tooth in his head flashed. “Lordy, Miss June--I never knowed you at all.” June smiled--it was the tribute she was looking for. “Have you seen Mr. Hale?” “No'm. Mr. Hale ain't been here for mos' six months. I reckon he aint in this country now. I aint heard nothin' 'bout him for a long time.” June knew better than that--but she said nothing. She would rather have had even Harvey think that he was away. So she hurried to the hotel--she would have four hours to wait--and asked for the one room that had a bath attached--the room to which Hale had sent her when she had passed through on her way to New York. She almost winced when she looked in the mirror and saw the smoke stains about her pretty throat and ears, and she wondered if anybody could have noticed them on her way from the train. Her hands, too, were dreadful to look at and she hurried to take off her things.