Laughing at the odd conceit that men, hounds and horses should be considered akin by any one not absolutely benighted, he resumed his seat at the piano and began playing a gay waltz tune then popular with the dancing set of Boston’s exclusive circle. As Burton ended the piece of music with a fantastic flourish of his own composition, he turned and saw his valet standing silently waiting for his master to cease playing. “Ah! Victor, are the hampers packed carefully?” exclaimed Burton. “Yes, sir,” replied the valet, pronouncing his words with marked French accent. “The steward at your club furnished all the articles on the list that the housekeeper lacked, sir.” “You are sure that you put in the hampers the ‘44’ vintage of champagne, the Burgundy imported by myself, and you examined the cigars to be certain to get only those of the last lot from Havana?” “Quite sure, sir; I packed everything myself, as you told me you were especially anxious to have only the very best selected,” said the little Frenchman. “Now, listen, Victor; tomorrow I dine away from home, but before I leave the house I shall arrange a box of flowers, which, with the hampers, you are to carry in my dog-cart to Dunlap’s wharf and there you are to have them placed in the cabin of the ship ‘Adams.’ You will open the box of flowers and arrange them tastefully, as I know you can, about the master’s stateroom—take a half-dozen vases to put them in.” “Very good, sir; it shall be done as you say, sir,” answered the valet bowing and moving toward the door. “Hold on, Victor!” called Burton, “I wish to add just this: if by any accident, no matter what, you fail to get these things on board the ‘Adams’ before she sails, my gentle youth, I will break your neck.” So admonished the servant bowed low and left the room, as his master turned again to the piano and began to make the room ring with a furious and warlike march. IV. The United States is famous for its beautiful women, but even in that country where beauty is the common heritage of her daughters, Lucy Dunlap’s loveliness of face and figure shone as some transcendent planet in the bright heavens of femininity where all are stars. “How can you be so cruel, Jack, as to run away to sea again so soon and when I need you so much?” The great hazel eyes looked so pleadingly into poor Jack’s that he could not even stammer out an excuse for his departure. Sailors possibly appreciate women more than all other classes of men. They are so much without their society that they never seem to regard them as landsmen do, and Lucy Dunlap was an exceptional example of womankind to even the most _blase_ landsman. Small wonder then that sailor Jack, confused, could only gaze at the lovely being before him.