. Then he
began to argue against the case supposed in the romance; he proved from
the book itself that the thing could not happen; such a princess would
not be allowed to marry the American, no matter how rich he was. She
owned that she had not heard of just such an instance, and he might
think her very romantic; and perhaps she was; but if the princess was an
absolute princess, such as she was shown in that story, she held that
no power on earth could keep her from marrying the young American. For
herself she did not see, though, how the princess could be in love
with that type of American. If she had been in the princess's place she
should have fancied something quite different. She made Boyne agree with
her that Eastern Americans were all, more or less, Europeanized, and it
stood to reason, she held, that a European princess would want something
as un-European as possible if she was falling in love to please herself.
They had some contention upon the point that the princess would want
a Western American; and then Miss Rasmith, with a delicate audacity,
painted an heroic portrait of Boyne himself which he could not recognize
openly enough to disown; but he perceived resemblances in it which went
to his head when she demurely rose, with a soft "Good-night, Mr. Kenton.
I suppose I mustn't call you Boyne?"

"Oh yes, do!" he entreated. "I'm-I'm not grown up yet, you know."

"Then it will be safe," she sighed. "But I should never have thought
of that. I had got so absorbed in our argument. You are so logical, Mr.
Kenton--Boyne, I mean--thank you. You must get it from your father. How
lovely your sister is!"

"Ellen?"

"Well, no. I meant the other one. But Miss Kenton is beautiful, too. You
must be so happy together, all of you." She added, with a rueful smile,
"There's only one of me! Good-night."

Boyne did not know whether he ought not in humanity, if not gallantry,
to say he would be a brother to her, but while he stood considering, she
put out a hand to him so covered with rings that he was afraid she had
hurt herself in pressing his so hard, and had left him before he could
decide.

Lottie, walking the deck, had not thought of bidding Mr. Pogis
good-night. She had asked him half a dozen times how late it was, and
when he answered, had said as often that she knew better, and she was
going below in another minute. But she stayed, and the flow of her
conversation supplied him with occasion for the remarks of which