“No,” answered the young lady, with a sigh, looking dreamily out into the hazy distance. “No, I am not.” “At least, not that side of the counter,” said George. She looked at him for a moment, as if she did not understand him; then she laughed lightly. “Now,” said Morris, “I have done most of the confession on this confession of yours. Supposing I make a confession, and ask you to tell me what she told you.” “Well, she told me that you were a very fascinating young man,” answered Katherine, with a sigh. “Really. And did after-acquaintance corroborate that statement?” “I never had occasion to tell her she was mistaken.” “What else did she say? Didn’t mention anything about my prospects or financial standing in any way?” “No; we did not touch on that subject.” “Come, now, you cannot evade the question. What else did she say to you about me?” “I don’t know that it is quite right to tell you, but I suppose I may. She said that you were engaged to her.” “Had been.” “No, were.” “Oh, that’s it. She did not tell you she was on her wedding tour?” “No, she did not.” “And didn’t you speak to her about her father being on board?” Katherine laughed her low, enjoyable laugh. “Yes,” she said, “I did, and I did not think till this moment of how flustered she looked. But she recovered her lost ground with a great deal of dexterity.” “By George, I should like to have heard that! I am avenged!” “Well, so is she,” was the answer. “How is that?” “You are engaged to me, are you not?” Before George could make any suitable reply to this bit of humbug, one of the officers of the ship stopped before them. “Well,” he said, “I am afraid we shall not see Liverpool to-night.” “Really. Why?” asked George. “This haze is settling down into a fog. It will be as thick as pea-soup before an hour. I expect there will be a good deal of grumbling among the passengers.” As he walked on, George said to Katherine, “There are two passengers who won’t grumble any, will they, my dear?” “I know one who won’t,” she answered. The fog grew thicker and thicker; the vessel slowed down, and finally stopped, sounding every now and then its mournful, timber-shaking whistle. Eighth Day On the afternoon of the eighth day George Morris and Katherine Earle stood together on the deck of the tender, looking back at the huge steamship which they had just left. “When we return,” he said, “I think we shall choose this ship.” “Return?” she answered, looking at him. “Why, certainly; we are going back, are we not?” “Dear me,” she replied, “I had not thought of that. You see, when I left America I did not intend to go back.” “Did you not? I thought you were only over here for the trip.” “Oh no. I told you I came on business, not on pleasure.” “And did you intend to stay over here?” “Certainly.” “Why, that’s strange; I never thought of that.” “It is strange, too,” said Katherine, “that I never thought of going back.” “And—and,” said the young man, “won’t you go?”