My gentle words seemed to quiet him, and then he explained:
"It is after the regular hour for dinner. The room is locked up, and Annie has gone out with the key."
My pride would not let me stand longer in the hall.
"Yery well," I remarked, as I began climbing the stairs, "I will tell Mrs. Clarke that I cannot get any dinner."
He looked after me, with a scowl on his face:
"You need not put on airs! I understand the whole thing."
I said nothing, but continued to climb the stairs, thinking to myself: "Well, if you understand the whole thing, it is strange that you should put the widow of ex-President Abraham Lincoln in a three-cornered room in the attic of this miserable hotel."
When I reached Mrs. Lincoln's rooms, tears of humiliation and vexation were in my eyes.
