“I do not know; I have never met him before, and yet——” was Brownie’s hesitating reply, while her face wore a puzzled look. “And yet what?” asked the young man, trying to speak carelessly, yet with the vestige of a frown. “It seems to me as if I have seen his face at some time, but where, I do not remember.” And the perplexed look still remained upon her countenance. “He seemed to know you. He called you ‘Brownie Douglas.’ Is that your name?” The color flamed again into her cheeks at the question. She had noticed the stranger’s involuntary utterance of her pet name, and had been strangely moved by it. “It used to be when I had dear friends.” She grew sad and pale again at the memories which came thronging upon her at the sound of the dear old name. “I cannot understand, though, how he should come to know it,” she added, after a moment. “Brownie—Brownie—it just suits you, Miss Douglas,” said Mr. Coolidge, taking in at one admiring glance the shining coils of brown hair, the liquid chestnut eyes, and the long, dark lashes which just now half concealed them. “My name is Mehetabel Douglas, Mr. Coolidge,” Brownie said, coldly, and with dignity, not relishing his familiarity, nor the tender cadence which his voice had assumed. He laughed aloud. “Pardon me,” he said, “but such a name for you is an abomination. Don’t you ever shorten it?” “I do not think it is very euphonious myself, Mr. Coolidge, and therefore, when I write it, I shorten it into Meta,” she explained, smiling at his indignation, and disarmed by his frankness. “That is quite respectable. But what is the matter? I fear you have not recovered from your fall yet. Are you sure you are not injured by it?” he asked, anxiously, seeing she had grown very white again. “No; but it gave me quite a shock, and I think the motion of the boat prolongs the dizziness. But I shall do very well if I can only sit down.” “If this gentle swaying affects you so, I do not know what you will do when we come to move,” he replied, as he hastened toward the saloon with her. Here they found the rest of the family, quite anxious at their non-appearance; and his mother and Isabel were not in the best frame of mind in the world when they saw the governess come in, leaning upon the arm of Wilbur. “Miss Douglas has had a fall, mother, and is faint; please let her have your vinaigrette,” he explained, as he carefully seated her upon a sofa. “Thanks, but I have one,” Brownie said, and straightway produced one from her little traveling-bag, which caused Miss Isabel’s pale eyes to expand with wonder. It was a costly little trifle of solid gold, and its stopple was curiously formed and set with pearls. She prized it, and loved to use it, because it has been one of the things which had been used last by Miss Mehetabel. “Do look, mamma! Wherever did she get it?” whispered Isabel.