After dinner on the next day after the arrival of Harold Farrington
Madame Beaumont dropped her handkerchief in passing out. Mr.
Farrington recovered and returned it without the effusiveness of a
seeker after acquaintance.
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 summer
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 Beaumont, 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 discovers
that the Lotus is further away from Broadway than Thousand Islands or
Mackinac."
"I hope our secret will be safe for a week, anyhow," said Madame,
with a sigh and a smile. "I do not know where I would go if they
should descend upon the dear Lotus.
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