head of a short steep hill and commanded—besides the "Unequalled Prospect of Quimpang Harbor"—an unobstructed view of the dilapidated wharf. Included, also, were piles of reeking lobster-pots and barrels of fish and a fringe of dirty power-boats just come in, whose laboring engines choked and spat viciously through rusty exhaust-pipes. The hotel itself was a barnlike building with a wide echoing piazza where weathered rocking-chairs stood ranged in meek rows. A dingy flag snapped its tattered length above the cupola, and from somewhere within doors came the jingle of a patient piano giving forth popular airs under the nimble fingers of a summer girl.
It was late in the afternoon, and little groups of people were climbing up from the shingly beach and strolling in from the tennis court as Joan entered the hotel.
"I'd like a good room, please," she said, putting down her bag at the desk.
"Very sorry, ma'am," said the youthful clerk; "we're full to capacity this week. Turned away a couple of gentlemen just before you came in."
Joan stared; she had not reckoned with this possibility. She had supposed that in a place
