Mrs. Huntington. Your daughter, Miss O'Brien,
and I have been working in the same costume class at the League. I did
not dream she was to be on this boat and when I saw her come on deck I
thought I was seeing ghosts."

Pierce had come eagerly forward to meet the mother of the interesting
girl he had known and liked at the art school; but Mrs. Huntington
looked as though she, too, were seeing ghosts. She shrank back in her
down pillows and her face became pinched and pale, and it was a moment
before the hardened woman of the world could command her voice to return
the greeting of the young man.

"Kinsella, did you say? Could you be Tom Kinsella's son? You are
strangely like him."

"Thank you, madam, for that. There is no one I want to be like so much
as my Uncle Tom. I am his nephew; my uncle has never married. Did you
know my uncle? He is on board and I know would be glad to renew his
acquaintance with you. But let me introduce Miss Brown to both of you."

The two girls shook hands, and as they looked in each other's eyes,
Molly felt in her heart an instinctive liking for the older girl. There
was something honest and straight about her face despite the rather
sullen expression of her mouth. She was beautiful, besides, and beauty
always appealed to Molly,--almost always, at least, for although Mrs.
Huntington was beautiful, too, Molly felt no leaning toward her. Mother
and daughter looked enough alike to make it not difficult to guess the
relationship at the first glance; but the more one saw of them, the
fainter grew the resemblance. The older woman was smaller, fairer and
plumper; her hair was golden while the daughter's was light brown; her
complexion pink and white, the daughter's rather sallow; her eyes baby
blue, the other's gray green. But the daughter's features were more
pronounced and her well-cut chin and mouth showed character and pride,
while the mother's looked a little petulant.

"I am very glad to meet you, Miss Brown. I believe I have heard of you.
Aren't you Julia Kean's 'Molly'?" And Elise O'Brien gave Molly's hand a
little squeeze.

"Of course I am. To think of your knowing my Judy! You must have met her
at the League. Perhaps you knew her, too, Mr. Kinsella."

"Who? Miss Kean? I should say I did. She was the life of the outdoor
sketch club we got up; and believe me, she has a soul for color. Why,
that little 'postage stamp landscape' she had in the American Artists'
Exhibition was a winner.