other end of the obscure corridor was a chambermaid kneeling down and
washing the linoleum. Ah, maid! Would I not have exchanged fates with
you, then! I walked boldly up to her. She seemed to be surprised, but she
continued to wring out a cloth in her pail as she looked at me.

'What time is it, please?' I asked her.

'Better than half-past six, ma'am,' said she.

She was young and emaciated.

'Have you got a hat you can lend me? Or I'll buy it from you.'

'A hat, ma'am?'

'Yes, a hat,' I repeated impatiently. And I flushed. 'I must go out at
once, and I've--I've no hat And I can't--'

It is extraordinary how in a crisis one's organism surprises one. I had
thought I was calm and full of self-control, but I had almost no command
over my voice.

'I've got a boat-shaped straw, ma'am, if that's any use to you,' said the
girl kindly.

What she surmised or what she knew I could not say. But I have found out
since in my travels, that hotel chambermaids lose their illusions early.
At any rate her tone was kindly.

'Get it me, there's a good girl,' I entreated her.