The pretty little thing despised of the functionaries corresponded almost exactly in appearance to the typical bureau girl.  She was moderately tall; she had a good slim figure, all pleasant curves, flaxen hair and plenty of it, and a dainty, rather expressionless face; the ears and mouth were very small, the eyes large and blue, the nose so-so, the cheeks and forehead of an equal ivory pallor, the chin trifling, with a crease under the lower lip and a rich convexity springing out from below the crease.  The extremities of the full lips were nearly always drawn up in a smile, mechanical, but infallibly attractive.  The hair was of an orthodox frizziness.  You would have said she was a nice, kind, good-natured girl, flirtatious but correct, well adapted to adorn a dogcart on Sundays.

This was Nina, foolish Nina, aged twenty-one.  In her reverie the entire Hotel Majestic weighed on her; she had a more than adequate sense of her own solitary importance in the bureau, and stirring obscurely beneath that consciousness were the deep ineradicable longings of a poor pretty girl for heaps of money, endless luxury of finery and chocolates, and sentimental silken dalliance.

Suddenly a stranger entered the hall.  His advent seemed to wake the place out of the trance into which it had fallen.  The nocturne had begun.  Nina straightened herself and intensified her eternal smile.  The two porters became military, and smiled with a special and peculiar urbanity.  Several lesser but still lordly functionaries appeared among the pillars; a page-boy emerged by magic from the region of the chimney-piece like Mephistopheles in Faust’s study; and some guests of both sexes strolled chattering across the tessellated pavement as they passed from one wing of the hotel to the other.

‘How do, Tom?’ said the stranger, grasping the hand of the head hall-porter, and nodding to the head night-porter.

His voice showed that he was an American, and his demeanour that he was one of those experienced, wealthy, and kindly travellers who know the Christian names of all the hall-porters in the world, and have the trick of securing their intimacy and fealty.  He wore a blue suit and a light gray wideawake, and his fine moustache was grizzled.  In his left hand he carried a brown bag.

‘Nicely, thank you, sir,’ Tom replied.  ‘How are you, sir?’

‘Oh, about six and six.’

Whereupon both porters laughed heartily.

Tom escorted him to the bureau, and tried to relieve him of his bag.  Inferior lords escorted Tom.

‘I guess I’ll keep the grip,’ said the stranger.  ’Mr. Pank will be around with some more baggage pretty soon.  We’ve expressed the rest on to the steamer.  Well, my dear,’ he went on, turning to Nina, ’you’re a fresh face here.’

He looked her steadily in the eyes.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said, conquered instantly.

Radiant and triumphant, the man brought good-humour into every face, like some wonderful combination of the sun and the sea-breeze.