She was wild and full of tricks as an unbroken colt; but she was a thoroughly good girl, for all that, lavish of her money to all who needed, and snubbing lovers incontinently.

She was stopping up the street at another hotel, and she would in all probability be easily accessible about noon.
The seedy, strolling players drank their diluted brandy, smoked their cigars, and told Mr.Walraven all this.

They rather laughed at the New York millionaire when he was out of sight.

He had fallen in love with pretty, blue-eyed Mollie, no doubt, and that was a very stale story with the shabby players.
Noon came, and, speckless and respectable to the last degree, Mr.
Walraven presented himself at the other hotel, and sent up his card with a waiter to Miss Dane.
The waiter ushered him into the hotel parlor, cold and prim as it is in the nature of hotel parlors to be.

Mr.Walraven sat down and stared vaguely at the papered walls, rather at a loss as to what he should say to this piquant Mollie, and wondering how he would feel if she laughed at him.
"And she will laugh," he thought, with a mental groan; "she's the sort of girl that laughs at everything.