“Well, I shall try to convince you,” Frank said. “Do you like the sea?” “I don't see what that has to do with the question, Mr. Maynard. But, yes, I do like it—I love it dearly.” “So do I, Miss O'Byrne. Are you a good sailor?” “Oh, yes,” Katie said; “I always lived near the sea, and used to go out in yachts. Yes, I am a very good sailor.” “Then, of course, you enjoy rough weather, Miss O'Byrne? I like, above all things, to see a storm.” “So do I,” she said, enthusiastically. “I love being out when it is really rough.” “I suppose, then, you will agree with me, Miss O'Byrne, that no one who does not really love the sea could enjoy a gale.” Katie thought the proposition over for a second. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “But I really don't see that this has anything to do with what I asked you—why are you always teazing me?” “I have been answering your question the whole time, Miss O'Byrne. You have only to suppose you are the sea.” The girl thought a moment, and then looked up indignantly, with a heightened colour, as she saw the application. “What nonsense you talk, Mr. Maynard. You will try to persuade me next that to knock a person down is a sign of friendship. I shall never believe you again,” she said, as she turned to join the others. “Yes you will, some day, Katie,” Frank said, following her closely. Miss O'Byrne did not appear to have heard, but she had. It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name, and it sounded strangely to her from his lips. Katie could not help colouring, and was angry with herself for doing so, and still more angry when she saw by a little quiet smile on Sarah's face that she noticed it. When she thought the matter over, she determined, on the first opportunity to tell Mr. Maynard she considered it to be a great liberty. But then she felt certain Frank would only laugh and say that he called her cousin “Sarah,” but that if Miss O'Byrne objected, he would apologise, and not repeat the offence. After all, too, there was no particular reason why she should object any more than Sarah. As to that talk about the sea, it was absurd. “No one would care for a storm unless he loved the sea,” Katie said, thoughtfully; “and of course he meant me to suppose that he would not have cared about making me mad if he didn't—well, like me. What humbugs men are,” she exclaimed, indignantly; “I do think they imagine we girls are fools enough to believe any stuff they like to tell us.” Frank Maynard did not repeat the offence of calling her by her Christian name until he said good-bye to her upon leaving. “What impudence!” Katie said to herself, as she looked after the dog-cart; “what impudence, to venture to squeeze my hand, as he certainly did, just as if he would persuade me that all his rudeness is to go for nothing. Well, men are humbugs! I wonder whether he will ever come back again.” CHAPTER II. THE “LIVELY STUNNERS.”