s doing so near
the top of my head I couldn't conceive, until its owner (fumbling with
one hand for his handkerchief to staunch a drop of blood, and snatching
off his straw hat with the other, already full of notebooks and things)
blurted out abruptly: "Are you Lady Bulkeley?"

I _was_ surprised!

"No," said I. "I'm Lady Betty Bulkeley."

"That's all right," said the nose man, as if he forgave me for being
myself. "I didn't know but you'd want to be called Lady Bulkeley by
strangers."

"It isn't my name," I said, more puzzled than ever. I would have tried
to be dignified, as he was a perky-looking young man in an alpaca coat;
but when you have just made a person's nose bleed with your hat, it
would seem unfeeling to be too frigid,--though I believe an application
of ice is supposed to be beneficial.

"Shall I call you Lady Betty then?" asked the man, patting his nose
with his handkerchief, which luckily for my nerves had already a
pattern of pink dots on it.

"I don't see why you should call me anything," said I.

With that, he produced a card, with a whole string of words printed on
it, and poked it under my eyes. "I was just going to introduce myself,"
he said. "I represent _The New York Flashlight_, and I've been sent by
my paper to get something from you, if you'll oblige me."

"Something from me?" I repeated, bewildered. "Is it anything to do with
the Customs? I've nothing to declare."

"Just tell me, please, something about your family. Your brother's the
Duke of Stanforth, isn't he?" (He pronounced it "Dook.")

"Yes, but----"

"Thanks. Young and unmarried, isn't he?"

"Yes. But----"

"Ever been on this side?"

"No. But----"

"He'll come some day, won't he? Most unmarried Dukes do."

"I don't know, I'm sure. Really, I think----"

"Excuse me. You're going to stay with Mrs. Stuyvesant-Knox, I believe.
Will you make a lengthy visit?"

"I don't----"

"You must have met one or two of our smartest young men on board. What
do you think of them as compared with Englishmen?"

Long before this I had made up my mind that he couldn't have anything
to do with the Customs, or if he did, that it was no wonder Mrs. Ess
Kay had been driven to swearing in the saloon. I was glad now that his
nose was bleeding, and I turned my back upon him, because it was the
most emphatic gesture I could think of. But as I faced round the other
way, wondering if my luggage would ever come, another man pushed
through the