recognized him. Abruptly his gaze returned to the
girl. Yes, now he knew. It was stupid of him not to have remembered
at once. Why, it was she who had given the bunch of violets that day
to the old veteran in Napoleon's tomb. To have remembered the father
and to have forgotten the daughter!

"I was wondering where I had seen you," he said lowly.

"Where was that?"

"In Napoleon's tomb, nearly a year ago. You gave an old French soldier
a bouquet of violets. I was there."

"Were you?" As a matter of fact his face was absolutely new to her.
"I am not very good at recalling faces. And in traveling one sees so
many."

"That is true." Queer sort of girl, not to show just a little more
interest. The moment was not ordinary by any means. He was
disappointed.

"Father!" she called, in a clear, sweet voice, for the admiral had not
heard them enter.

At the call he raised his head and took off his Mandarin spectacles.
Like all sailors, he never had any trouble in seeing distances clearly;
the difficulty lay in books, letters, and small type.

"What is it, Laura?"

"This is Mr. Fitzgerald, the new secretary," she answered blandly.

"Aha! Bring a chair over and sit down. What did you say the name is,
Laura?"

"Fitzgerald."

"Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald," repeated the admiral cordially.

Fitzgerald desired but one thing; the privilege of laughter!

CHAPTER V

NO FALSE PRETENSES

A private secretary, and only one way out! If the girl had been kind
enough to stand her ground with him he would not have cared so much.
But there she was vanishing beyond the door. There was a suggestion of
feline cruelty in thus abandoning him. He dared not call her back.
What the devil should he say to the admiral? There was one thing he
knew absolutely nothing about, and this was the duties of a private
secretary to a retired admiral who had riches, a yacht, a hobby, and a
beautiful, though impulsive daughter. His thought became irrelevant,
as is frequent when one faces a crisis, humorous or tragic; here indeed
was the coveted opportunity to study at close range the habits of a man
who spent less than his income.

"Come, come; draw up your chair, Mr. Fitzgerald."

"I beg your pardon; I--that is, I was looking at those flags, sir,"
stuttered the self-made victim of circumstances.

"Oh, those? Good examples of their kind; early part of the nineteenth
century. Picked them up one cruise in the Indies. That f