"Naturally," acquiesced the Englishman, staring blankly at the clerk. He lit a cigar and puffed it thoughtfully for about five minutes, then he exclaimed, "Extraordinary!" "Beg pardon?" said the clerk. "I find it most extraordinary." "What are you referring to, Lord Canning?" "I was referring to what you were telling me about this gentleman, of course!" Lord Canning pointed to Stillwater on the register. "Oh!" laughed the clerk, amused that the facts he had given were still a matter for reflection. "Yes, he’s one of our biggest capitalists out West. The family are generally here at this time of the year. The ladies have just arrived from Palm Beach." "Palm Beach?" "That’s south, you know." "Oh, a winter resort?" "Exactly." Lord Canning recommenced his study of the register. "Mrs. Horatio Stillwater," he read. "Stillwater, Indiana. Miss Indiana Stillwater." He reflected a moment. "Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. Here too, is a similarity of names. Probably a coincidence and probably not." He read on, "Mrs. Chazy Bunker, Stillwater, Indiana. Bunker, Bunker!" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Oh, Bunker Hill," he thought, with sudden inspiration. "Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. If the town was named after the father, why should not the State—no, that could not be. But the reverse might be possible." He addressed the clerk. "Would you mind telling me—oh, I beg your pardon," seeing that the clerk was very much occupied at that moment—"It doesn’t matter—some other time." He turned and lounged easily against the desk, surveying the people walking about, with the intentness of a person new to his surroundings, and still pondering the question. * * * * * "Now," said Stillwater, after his family had been duly installed, "let me look at you. I’m mighty glad to see you all again." He swung his daughter Indiana up in his arms and kissed her, then set her on his knee and looked at her with open admiration. Mr. Horatio Stillwater had never seen any reason why he should be ashamed of his great pride in his only child. Indiana herself had often been heard to remark, "Pa has never really recovered from the shock of my birth. It was a case of too much joy. He thinks I’m the greatest thing on record." "Well, folks," he said, "I expect you’re all dead tired." "Not I," said Mrs. Bunker, his mother-in-law. She was a well-formed woman, with dark, vivacious eyes and a crown of white hair dressed in the latest mode. "I could take the trip all over again." "Did you miss us, father?" asked Mrs. Stillwater, a gentle-looking, pretty woman, with soft, brown hair and dark blue eyes like her child’s, only Indiana’s were more alert and restless. "Ma has lovely eyes," Indiana was in the habit of remarking. "She takes them from me." Mr. Stillwater put Indiana off his knees and sat by his wife. "Did I miss you? Not a little bit."