Marjorie was plainly interested to a high degree now in every word that I gave her to write. The tale of the excited night I passed after first meeting her, my half-formed resolves to give up the plan of taking a companion on my voyage, the celerity with which I changed my mind the following morning, upon awakening, the reception of the next letter she sent me, with my comments thereon, kept her as entertained as if the story had indeed been fiction. She laughed a little when I admitted starting the letter in reply beginning "My Darling, I cannot breathe until once more I am in your loved presence," and paused to remark that she had never known a man so excitable and uncontrollable. My meeting with Statia on Broadway seemed to affect her strongly. All her sympathies were evidently with that young lady, for she shook her head and uttered several sighs as I told how we parted after her withdrawal of the invitation to call at her house. Then came the chapter in which my amanuensis had said at last, "I am going, of course," with the stipulations she had made, her cheeks blushing, as to the conduct she would demand from me. Marjorie smiled again at the letter I wrote to Alice Brazier, in which I tried to describe my "secretary," and the dream I had that night, but she grew as sober as possible when I read the second letter from Miss Brazier, adjuring me to treat my fellow voyager with courtesy and honor. The solemn resolutions I made to comply with this request pleased her, as did the story of Tom Barton's visit to my rooms and his plan for a _modus vivendi_ between Statia and me. Then she had to copy, at my dictation, her own long letter explaining why, if she was to travel as my relation, more money than I had given her would be required. At the end she commented aloud on what she called the mercenary tone of that note. "You had a good many doubts of me, first and last," she added. "First only," I reply, "not last. I'd like to know what could make me doubt you now." The chapter ended (the ninth chapter) with the sentence before the one that now closes it and Miss May rose from her long task with a sigh of relief. Tuesday, both of us being still in excellent trim, the dictation was resumed. That day she finished the tenth, eleventh and twelfth chapters, smiling at the right places and looking pensive when there was occasion. Once she interpolated, "I like that Tom Barton--he is made of true metal," which naturally pleased me. The nervous wait I had at her rooms made her shake her head in a way that meant much, and the excessive joy with which I greeted her when she did come sobered her considerably. "Have you not drawn the long bow a little here?" she asked, pausing. "You need not think it necessary to stretch your sensations just because the object of them happens to be their recorder."