s; some sentiment left."

"Were you ever in love?" persisted her companion.

"I suppose I was, like most girls. When I first left school I saw boys I
liked. All girls are silly at some period of their life. But I survived
those early attachments. I am still heart-whole. I never see nowadays a
man with whom I could fall in love. To me, they all seem conceited and
selfish. Of course I shall have to marry one day or other, but I'm
afraid it will be what the French call a _mariage de convenance_.

"Or, in plain Yankee, marriage with an eye to the main chance," rejoined
Mrs. Stuart. "But you don't have to marry for money, child. You are
rich."

Grace was thoughtful a moment, and then she replied:

"Money is not everything--mere money is vulgar. One gets horribly tired
of it." Pensively she went on: "You think I am cold and devoid of
sentiment. You are wrong. I yearn for life in the sun-lit countries of
the old world, in historic lands of intrigue, love, and passion, with
brilliant state functions amid scenes of regal splendor, where class
and birth count for more than mere wealth. In America we have only the
money standard. The wife of any little grocer who gets rich overnight
may be a social leader to-morrow. It's disgusting!"

Mrs. Stuart was about to say something when a sudden commotion on the
dock attracted everybody's attention, and there was a general rush to
the rail. A large crowd had gathered near the entrance of the gangway,
surrounding a man who lay struggling on the ground. Policemen and ship's
officers were stooping over him trying to quiet him.

"What's the matter?" cried Grace anxiously. "I hope no one's hurt!"

"It looks as if some one had fallen in a fit," said Mrs. Stuart, looking
through her lorgnon.

Mr. Harmon, who had been conversing with an acquaintance, came up
hurriedly. Having noticed the excitement, he feared that some harm
threatened his daughter.

"It's an accident of some kind," he said.

"Oh, I knew something would happen!" exclaimed Mrs. Stuart, getting out
her smelling-salts.

"Do you know what the matter is?" inquired Grace of a sailor.

The man grinned and touched his cap.

"'Tain't nothin', miss. Only one of 'em blokes what keeps the fire's
a-goin' got it inter ees 'ead that it was too bloomin' 'ot for 'im. So
'ee jumps the blessed ship without so much as askin' leave, an' gets run
in by the cops fer 'is pains."

The explanation, such as it was, was wholly incomprehensib