"Hush!" said the president. He had turned towards the door, at which some one was knocking lightly.
"Come in."
The door opened upon Miss Marsh, secretary and hotel assistant.
She had a business aspect, and an open letter in her hand, but hesitated at the evident confusion she had occasioned. Two of the gentlemen had absolutely blushed, and the others regarded her with inane smiles or affected seriousness. They all coughed slightly.
"I beg your pardon," she said, not ungracefully, a slight color coming into her sallow cheek, which, in conjunction with the gold eye-glasses, gave her, at least in the eyes of the impressible Clint, a certain piquancy. "But my father said you were here in committee and I might consult you. I can come again, if you are busy."
She had addressed the president, partly from his office, his comparatively extreme age--he must have been at least thirty!--and possibly for his extremer good looks. He said hurriedly, "It's just an informal meeting;" and then, more politely, "What can we do for you?"
"We have an application for a suite of rooms next week," she said, referring to the letter, "and as we shall be rather full, father thought you gentlemen might be willing to take another larger room for your meetings, and give up these, which are part of a suite--and perhaps not exactly suitable"--
"Quite impossible!" "Quite so!" "Really out of the question," said the members, in a rapid chorus.
The young girl was evidently taken aback at this unanimity of opposition. She stared at them curiously, and then glanced around the room. "We're quite comfortable here," said the president explanatorily, "and--in fact--it's just what we want."
"We could give you a closet like that which you could lock up, and a mirror," she suggested, with the faintest trace of a smile.