“I did not say that I was an American girl.” “Oh, that’s a fact. I took you for one, however.” They were both of them so intent on their conversation in walking up the narrow way between the long table and the short ones, that neither of them noticed the handsome blonde young lady standing beside her chair looking at them. It was only when that young lady said, “Why, Mr. Morris, is this you?” and when that gentleman jumped as if a cannon had been fired beside him, that either of them noticed their fair fellow-traveller. “Y—es,” stammered Morris, “it is!” The young lady smiled sweetly and held out her hand, which Morris took in an awkward way. “I was just going to ask you,” she said, “when you came aboard. How ridiculous that would have been. Of course, you have been here all the time. Isn’t it curious that we have not met each other?—we of all persons in the world.” Morris, who had somewhat recovered his breath, looked steadily at her as she said this, and her eyes, after encountering his gaze for a moment, sank to the floor. Miss Earle, who had waited for a moment expecting that Morris would introduce her, but seeing that he had for the time being apparently forgotten everything on earth, quietly left them, and took her place at the breakfast table. The blonde young lady looked up again at Mr. Morris, and said— “I am afraid I am keeping you from breakfast.” “Oh, that doesn’t matter.” “I am afraid, then,” she continued sweetly, “that I am keeping you from your very interesting table companion.” “Yes, that _does_ matter,” said Morris, looking at her. “I wish you good morning, madam.” And with that he left her and took his place at the head of the small table. There was a vindictive look in the blonde young lady’s pretty eyes as she sank into her own seat at the breakfast table. Miss Earle had noticed the depressing effect which even the sight of the blonde lady exercised on Morris the day before, and she looked forward, therefore, to rather an uncompanionable breakfast. She was surprised, however, to see that Morris had an air of jaunty joviality, which she could not help thinking was rather forced. “Now,” he said, as he sat down on the sofa at the head of the table, “I think it’s about time for us to begin our chutney fight.” “Our what?” asked the young lady, looking up at him with open eyes. “Is it possible,” he said, “that you have crossed the ocean and never engaged in the chutney fight? I always have it on this line.” “I am sorry to appear so ignorant,” said Miss Earle, “but I have to confess I do not know what chutney is.” “I am glad of that,” returned the young man. “It delights me to find in your nature certain desert spots—certain irreclaimable lands, I might say—of ignorance.” “I do not see why a person should rejoice in the misfortunes of another person,” replied the young lady.