t's not within
the bounds of possibility that he is so happy as we!"

"Oh, of course not!" agreed Georgiana to this decidedly boyish speech.
She realized suddenly how quickly the sense of relaxation from care was
beginning to show in her husband. Her hand within his arm gave it a warm
little squeeze. "That couldn't be expected. To be torn apart, at any and
all hours, and kept apart day after day, just when we most want to be
together--and then to come down to a big ship and know that no telephone
bell can ring, nobody can make a single demand upon us that can prevent
our being by ourselves--well, words simply can't express how wonderful
it seems!"

"It _is_ wonderful, and we'll make the most of it. There's just one
thing I want to get out of this vacation in the way of work, and then
all the rest of it shall be at your service."

"The book?"

"The book. How did you guess? I haven't spoken of it."

"No, but I've seen you looking wistfully at your notebook time and
again, and guessed what you were thinking of. Well, we can make it fly.
I'm ready for you."

Georgiana plunged her hand into a small bag she carried on her arm, and
brought forth a notebook--of her own. She produced a pencil. "You may as
well begin to dictate now," she said demurely. "What's the use of losing
time? Just don't go too fast, that's all."

He stared at her. "What do you mean, dear? You don't know shorthand."

"Don't I? Well, perhaps I can write fast enough in long hand. Try me."

"My idea is," he said, "that we might spend a couple of hours every
morning, and another couple in the afternoon, if you don't mind, and
really get ahead quite a bit while we are at sea--provided you prove a
good sailor, which I have an idea you will if---- See here, what are you
doing? You're not taking that down in signs!" He looked over her
shoulder at the notebook, where a series of dashes, angles, hooks and
dots was forming with great rapidity. "You don't mean to say----"

"No, I mean to write, and let you do the saying. Go ahead, sir--only be
sure you say something worth while."

"But--you didn't have that accomplishment when we worked together last
summer."

"How I did wish I had, though! You kept insisting that I was doing all I
could for you by copying endlessly, but I knew perfectly well that if I
were a stenographer you could accomplish just three times as much in a
given time as you did. You know perfectly well you only took that course
to give a