"Can I see him?" she asked.

He gave her no answer, but going to an adjoining door, half opened it,
and announced, in a loud voice, that a lady desired to see Mr. Elder.

"Admit her," was the reply of that gentleman.

Mrs. Wentworth passed the desk, and, entering the room from whence the
voice proceeded, found herself in the presence of Mr. Elder, who was
seated in an arm chair reading a newspaper.

"Be seated, madam," he said, rising and handing her a chair. "What can
I have the honor of doing for you this morning?"

"This is your advertisement, I believe," she replied, handing him the
newspaper.

"Yes, madam," he answered, looking at her through his spectacles.

"Well, sir, it is my desire to rent one of the rooms."

"You, madam!" he replied, evidently surprised at her question.

"Yes, sir," she replied; "I am a refugee from New Orleans, having been
driven from there by General Butler. My husband is now a prisoner of
war in the hands of the enemy, and my means being limited, I am
compelled to live economically."

"Ahem, ahem," said Mr. Elder, clearing his throat; "indeed, madam, I
sympathise with you. This war has cast many people homeless and in