“I most humbly beg your pardon, ma’am; but I do not know your name, and have never had a chance to find it out. If it’s no offense, perhaps you would be so good as to tell it?” The young lady thus addressed flushed crimson, then looked at Brandon, who was gazing fixedly on his plate, and with visible embarrassment said, very softly, “Beatrice.” “B. A. Treachy,” said the Captain. “Ah! I hope, Miss Treachy, you will pardon me; but I really found it so everlasting confusing.” A faint smile crossed the lips of Brandon. But Beatrice did not smile. She looked a little frightened, and then said: “Oh, that is only my Christian name!” “Christian name!” said the Captain. “How can that be a Christian name?” “My surname is--” She hesitated, and then, with an effort, pronounced the word “Potts.” “‘Potts!’” said the Captain, quickly, and with evident surprise. “Oh--well, I hope you will excuse me.” But the face of Beatrice turned to an ashen hue as she marked the effect which the mention of that name had produced on Brandon. He had been looking at his plate like one involved in thought. As he heard the name his head fell forward, and he caught at the table to steady himself. He then rose abruptly with a cloud upon his brow, his lips firmly pressed together, and his whole face seemingly transformed, and hurried from the cabin. She did not see him again for a week. He pleaded illness, shut himself in his state-room, and was seen by no one but Cato. Beatrice could not help associating this change in Brandon with the knowledge of her name. That name was hateful to herself. A fastidious taste had prevented her from volunteering to tell it; and as no one asked her directly it had not been known. And now, since she had told it, this was the result. For Brandon’s conduct she could imagine only one cause. He had felt shocked at such a plebeian name. The fact that she herself hated her name, and saw keenly how ridiculously it sounded after such a name as Beatrice, only made her feel the more indignant with Brandon. “His own name,” she thought, bitterly, “is plebeian--not so bad as mine, it is true, yet still it is plebeian. Why should he feel so shocked at mine?” Of course, she knew him only as “_Mr. Wheeler_.” “Perhaps he has imagined that I had some grand name, and, learning my true one, has lost his illusion. He formerly esteemed me. He now despises me.” Beatrice was cut to the heart; but she was too proud to show any feeling whatever. She frequented the quarter-deck as before; though now she had no companion except, at turns, the good-natured Captain and the mate. The longer Brandon avoided her the more indignant she felt. Her outraged pride made sadness impossible. Brandon remained in his state-room for about two weeks altogether. When at length he made his appearance on the quarter-deck he found Beatrice there, who greeted him with a distant bow.