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Mr. Coulson found his two visitors in the lounge of the hotel. He had removed all traces of his journey, and was attired in a Tuxedo dinner coat, a soft-fronted shirt, and a neatly arranged black tie. He wore broad-toed patent boots and double lines of braid down the outsides of his trousers. The page boy, who was on the lookout for him, conducted him to the corner where Miss Penelope Morse and her companion were sitting talking together. The latter rose at his approach, and Mr. Coulson summed him up quickly, -- a well-bred, pleasant-mannered, exceedingly athletic young Englishman, who was probably not such a fool as he looked, -- that is, from Mr. Coulson's standpoint, who was not used to the single eyeglass and somewhat drawling enunciation.
"Mr. Coulson, isn't it? " the young man asked, accepting the other's outstretched hand. "We are awfully sorry to disturb you, so soon after your arrival, too, but the fact is that this young lady, Miss Penelope Morse," -- Mr. Coulson bowed, -- "was exceedingly anxious to make your acquaintance. You Americans are such birds of passage that she was afraid you might have moved on if she didn't look you up at once."