Yet Winston was by nature a gentleman; almost before he had grasped the full significance of it all he stepped silently backward, and gently closed the door.

For an uncertain moment he remained there staring blankly at the wood, that haunting memory once again mocking every vain attempt to associate this girl-face with some other he had known before.

Finally, leaving valise and overcoat lying in the hall, he retraced his way slowly down the stairs.
"Tom," and the young man leaned against the rough counter, his voice grown graver, "there chances to be a woman at present occupying that room you just assigned me." "No! Is that so ?" and the clerk swung easily down from his high stool, drawing the register toward him.

"Must be one of the troupe, then.
Let's see--Number Twenty-seven, was n't it?
Twenty-seven--oh, yes, here it is.

That's a fact," and his finger slowly traced the line as he spelled out the name, "'Miss Beth Norvell.' Oh, I remember her now--black hair, and a long gray coat; best looker among 'em.