"We receive servants only when they accompany their employers, and then assign them to the servants' quarters.

You yourself must perceive the necessity of this," he added hastily, seeing that Mrs.De Peyster was shaking, "to preserve the Dauphin's social tone--" "The servants' quarters!" gasped Mrs.De Peyster.

"You mean--" "You'll excuse me, please," interrupted the clerk, and with a bow ended the scene and moved to the rear of the office where he plainly busied himself over nothing at all.
Mrs.De Peyster, quivering, gulping, glared through her veil at him.

A hotel clerk had turned his back on her! And this mere clerk had dared refuse her a room! _Refuse her!_ Because she, _she_, Mrs.De Peyster had not the social tone! Nothing like it had ever happened to her before.
Her desire to annihilate that clerk with the suave ambassadorial look, and the Dauphin, and all therein and all appertaining thereunto, was mounting toward explosion, when Matilda clutched her arm.
"It's awful, ma'am,--but let's go," she whispered.

"What else can we do ?" Yes, what else could they do?
Mrs.De Peyster's wrath was still at demolitory pressure, but she saw the sense in that question.