Perhaps there was a mystic freemasonry between the discriminating guests of the Lotus. Perhaps they were drawn one to another by the fact of their common good fortune in discovering the acme of sum- mer resorts in a Broadway hotel. Words delicate in courtesy and tentative in departure from formality passed between the two. And, as if in the expedient atmosphere of a real summer resort, an acquaintance grew, flowered and fructified on the spot as does the mystic plant of the conjuror. For a few moments they stood on a balcony upon which the corridor ended, and tossed the feathery ball of conversation.
"One tires of the old resorts," said Madame Beau- mont, with a faint but sweet smile. "What is the use to fly to the mountains or the seashore to escape noise and dust when the very people that make both follow us there?"
"Even on the ocean," remarked Farrington, sadly, "the Philistines be upon you. The most exclusive steamers are getting to be scarcely more than ferry boats. Heaven help us when the summer resorter dis- covers that the Lotus is further away from Broadway than Thousand Islands or Mackinac."
"I hope our secret will be safe for a week, any- how," said Madame, with a sigh and a smile. "I do not know where I would go if they should descend upon the dear Lotus. I know of but one place so de- lightful in summer, and that is the castle of Count Polinski, in the Ural Mountains."
"I hear that Baden-Baden and Cannes are almost deserted this season," said Farrington. "Year by year the old resorts fall in disrepute. Perhaps many others, like ourselves, are seeking out the quiet nooks that are overlooked by the majority."
"I promise myself three days more of this delicious rest," said Madame Beaumont. "On Monday the Cedric sails."
Harold Farrington's eyes proclaimed his regret.
"I too must leave on Monday," he said, "but I do not go abroad."
Madame Beaumont shrugged one round shoulder in a foreign gesture.
"One cannot bide here forever, charming though it may be. The chateau has been in preparation for me longer than a month. Those house parties that one must give -- what a nuisance! But I shall never for- get my week in the Hotel Lotus."
"Nor shall I," said Farrington in a low voice, and I shall never forgive the Cedric."
On Sunday evening, three days afterward, the two sat at a little table on the same balcony. A discreet waiter brought ices and small glasses of claret cup.
Madame Beaumont wore the same beautiful even- ing gown that she had worn each day at dinner. She seemed thoughtful. Near her hand on the table lay a small chatelaine purse. After she had eaten her ice she opened the purse and took out a one-dollar bill.
"Mr. Farrington," she said, with the smile that had won the Hotel Lotus, "I want to tell you some- thing. I'm going to leave before breakfast in the morning, because I've got to go back to my work.
I'm behind the hosiery counter at Casey's Mammoth Store, and my vacation's up at eight o'clock to- morrow. That paper-dollar is the last cent I'll see till I draw my eight dollars salary next Saturday night. You're a real gentleman, and you've been good to me, and I wanted to tell you before I went.
I've been saving up out of my wages for a year just for this vacation. I wanted to spend one week like a lady if I never do another one. I wanted to get up when I please instead of having to crawl out at seven every morning; and I wanted to live on the best and be waited on and ring bells for things just like rich folks do. Now I've done it, and I've had the happiest time I ever expect to have in my life. I'm going back to my work and my little hall bedroom satisfied for another year. I wanted to tell you about it, Mr. Farrington, because I -- I thought you kind of liked me, and I -- I liked you. But, oh, I couldn't help deceiving you up till now, for it was all just like a fairy tale to me. So I talked about Eu- rope and the things I've read about in other countries, and made you think I was a great lady.
"This dress I've got on -- it's the only one I have that's fit to wear -- I bought from O'Dowd & Levin- sky on the instalment plan."
"Seventy-five dollars is the price, and it was made to measure. I paid $10 down, and they're to collect $1 a week till it's paid for. That'll be about all I have to say, Mr. Farrington, except that my name is Mamie Siviter instead of Madame Beaumont, and I thank you for your attentions. This dollar will pay the instalment due on the dress to-morrow. I guess I'll go up to my room now."
Harold Farrington listened to the recital of the Lotus's loveliest guest with an impassive countenance.
When she had concluded he drew a small book like a checkbook from his coat pocket. He wrote upon a blank form in this with a stub of pencil, tore out the leaf, tossed it over to his companion and took up the paper dollar.
"I've got to go to work, too, in the morning," he said, "and I might as well begin now. There's a receipt for the dollar instalment. I've been a col- lector for O'Dowd & Levinsky for three years.
Funny, ain't it, that you and me both had the same idea about spending our vacation? I've always wanted to put up at a swell hotel, and I saved up out of my twenty per, and did it. Say, Mame, how about a trip to Coney Saturday night on the boat what?"
The face of the pseudo Madame Heloise D'Arcy Beaumont beamed.
"Oh, you bet I'll go, Mr. Farrington. The store closes at twelve on Saturdays. I guess Coney'll be all right even if we did spend a week with the swells."
Below the balcony the sweltering city growled and buzzed in the July night. Inside the Hotel Lotus the tempered, cool shadows reigned, and the solicitous waiter single-footed near the low windows, ready at a nod to serve Madame and her escort.
At the door of the elevator Farrington took his leave, and Madame Beaumont made her last ascent.
But before they reached the noiseless cage be said:
"Just forget that 'Harold Farrington,' will you?
McManus is the name -- James McManus. Some call me Jimmy."
"Good-night, Jimmy," said Madame.