the Grand, the Cornhil, and the Merrimac--each in turn.

Vain hope! You know what the New York hotels are. When I asked for a
room for her the clerk would eye her furs dubiously, look over his book
in pretense, and then inform me that the hotel was full.

At the Merrimac I sat down in the lobby and sent her to the clerk's
desk alone, but that was equally useless. I realized pretty soon that
no reputable hotel in New York City would accommodate her at that hour.

We were standing presently in front of the _Herald_ office. Her hand
still touched my arm, and I was conscious of an absurd desire to keep
it there as long as possible.

My curiosity had given place to deep anxiety on her account. What was
this child doing in New York alone, what sort of father had let her
come, if her story were true? What was she? A European? Too
unconventional for that. An Argentine? A runaway from some South
American convent?

Her skin was too fair for Spanish blood to flow beneath it. She looked
French and had something of the French frankness.

Canadian? I dared not ask her any more questions. There was only one
thing to do, and, though I shrank from the suggestion, it had to be
made.

"It is evident that you must go somewhere to-night," I said. "I have
two rooms on Tenth Street which I am vacating to-morrow. They are
poorly furnished, but there is clean linen; and if you will occupy them