"I hadn't thought of it," returned Carrie.
"Well, I am connected with the Wellington--the new hotel on Broadway.You have probably seen notices of it in the papers."
Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest and most imposing hostelries.She had heard it spoken of as having a splendid restaurant.
"Just so," went on Mr.Withers, accepting her acknowledgment of familiarity."We have some very elegant rooms at present which we would like to have you look at, if you have not made up your mind where you intend to reside for the summer.Our apartments are perfect in every detail--hot and cold water, private baths, special hall service for every floor, elevators, and all that.
You know what our restaurant is."
Carrie looked at him quietly.She was wondering whether he took her to be a millionaire.
"What are your rates?" she inquired.
"Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about.
Our regular rates are anywhere from three to fifty dollars a day."
"Mercy!" interrupted Carrie."I couldn't pay any such rate as that."
"I know how you feel about it," exclaimed Mr.Withers, halting.
"But just let me explain.I said those are our regular rates.
Like every other hotel we make special ones however.Possibly you have not thought about it, but your name is worth something to us."
"Oh!" ejaculated Carrie, seeing at a glance.
"Of course.Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons.
A well-known actress like yourself," and he bowed politely, while Carrie flushed, "draws attention to the hotel, and--although you may not believe it--patrons."
"Oh, yes," returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange this curious proposition in her mind.
"Now," continued Mr.Withers, swaying his derby hat softly and beating one of his polished shoes upon the floor, "I want to arrange, if possible, to have you come and stop at the Wellington.You need not trouble about terms.In fact, we need hardly discuss them.Anything will do for the summer--a mere figure--anything that you think you could afford to pay."