have just left, I guess you can catch the train at Norfolk."

As the traveler turned and called a porter to reship his baggage, he was
met by a lady, who greeted him with the cordiality of an old acquaintance
and a volley of questions.

"Why, Mr. King, this is good luck. When did you come? have you a good
room? What, no, not going?"

Mr. King explained that he had been a resident of Hampton Roads just
fifteen minutes, and that, having had a pretty good view of the place, he
was then making his way out of the door to Charleston, without any
breakfast, because there was no room in the inn.

"Oh, that never'll do. That cannot be permitted," said his engaging
friend, with an air of determination. "Besides, I want you to go with us
on an excursion today up the James and help me chaperon a lot of young
ladies. No, you cannot go away."

And before Mr. Stanhope King--for that was the name the traveler had
inscribed on the register--knew exactly what had happened, by some
mysterious power which women can exercise even in a hotel, when they
choose, he found himself in possession of a room, and was gayly
breakfasting with a merry party at a little round table in the
dining-room.

"He appears to know everybody," was Mrs. Benson's comment to Irene, as
she observed his greeting of one and another as the guests tardily came
down to breakfast. "Anyway, he's a genteel-looking party. I wonder if
he belongs to Sotor, King and Co., of New York?"