She asserted, “This silly lobby is too florid,” and simultaneously she admired it:  the onyx columns with gilt capitals, the crown-embroidered velvet curtains at the restaurant door, the silk-roped alcove where pretty girls perpetually waited for mysterious men, the two-pound boxes of candy and the variety of magazines at the news-stand.  The hidden orchestra was lively.  She saw a man who looked like a European diplomat, in a loose top-coat and a Homburg hat.  A woman with a broadtail coat, a heavy lace veil, pearl earrings, and a close black hat entered the restaurant.  “Heavens!  That’s the first really smart woman I’ve seen in a year!” Carol exulted.  She felt metropolitan.

But as she followed Kennicott to the elevator the coat-check girl, a confident young woman, with cheeks powdered like lime, and a blouse low and thin and furiously crimson, inspected her, and under that supercilious glance Carol was shy again.  She unconsciously waited for the bellboy to precede her into the elevator.  When he snorted “Go ahead!” she was mortified.  He thought she was a hayseed, she worried.

The moment she was in their room, with the bellboy safely out of the way, she looked critically at Kennicott.  For the first time in months she really saw him.

His clothes were too heavy and provincial.  His decent gray suit, made by Nat Hicks of Gopher Prairie, might have been of sheet iron; it had no distinction of cut, no easy grace like the diplomat’s Burberry.  His black shoes were blunt and not well polished.  His scarf was a stupid brown.  He needed a shave.

But she forgot her doubt as she realized the ingenuities of the room.  She ran about, turning on the taps of the bathtub, which gushed instead of dribbling like the taps at home, snatching the new wash-rag out of its envelope of oiled paper, trying the rose-shaded light between the twin beds, pulling out the drawers of the kidney-shaped walnut desk to examine the engraved stationery, planning to write on it to every one she knew, admiring the claret-colored velvet armchair and the blue rug, testing the ice-water tap, and squealing happily when the water really did come out cold.  She flung her arms about Kennicott, kissed him.

“Like it, old lady?”

“It’s adorable.  It’s so amusing.  I love you for bringing me.  You really are a dear!”

He looked blankly indulgent, and yawned, and condescended, “That’s a pretty slick arrangement on the radiator, so you can adjust it at any temperature you want.  Must take a big furnace to run this place.  Gosh, I hope Bea remembers to turn off the drafts tonight.”

Under the glass cover of the dressing-table was a menu with the most enchanting dishes:  breast of guinea hen De Vitresse, pommes de terre a la Russe, meringue Chantilly, gateaux Bruxelles.

“Oh, let’s——­I’m going to have a hot bath, and put on my new hat with the wool flowers, and let’s go down and eat for hours, and we’ll have a cocktail!” she chanted.