Let us, in imagination, reconstruct the incident, after the manner beloved of the French _juge d’instruction_. The great liner draws up to her berth at the landing-stage. Gangways are lowered, and there is a frantic rush of passengers to enter the Customs shed, though the last philosopher who walks placidly ashore knows that his luggage will be decorated with little printed crowns in ample time to permit him to travel to London by the same train that conveys the first triumphant struggler. Hovering between a portion of a wall marked “H” and the ticket barrier of the railway station will be found Maggie and her mama, both looking exceedingly well after the voyage, and in a state of repressed excitement arising from the conviction innate in every woman’s soul that she will never see her boxes again, once they have been so carelessly mixed up with other people’s belongings. Karl, exercising a degree of tact blended with silver, obtains admission to the enclosure, and recognizes Maggie at once, having seen her ten days ago at Manhattan Beach. But it is fully ten years since Maggie last saw him, so there occurs a social embarrassment in the nature of what our sporting friends call a “bull finch.” Nevertheless, Karl, having ingratiating manners, and being really an old friend and the son of Mrs. Hutchinson’s special crony, surmounts the obstacle, and is received with enthusiasm tempered by a certain shyness on Maggie’s part (her memory of youthful caresses becoming clearer each instant) and by speculation on the part of mama as to the reason which induced this very good-looking and well-dressed young man to come all the way to Liverpool to meet them. Clearly, Karl must talk platitudes about the weather, the fine sea-going qualities of the _Merlin_, the ridiculousness of all Customs examinations, or any other inane topic at the outset; it would never do to plunge straight off into the occult cause of his presence. Moreover, the train leaves for London in five minutes, and hosts of acquaintances, some of long standing, others of the ship-board or moth variety, exchange cheery greetings as they pass. “I suppose you are staying in Liverpool, Mr. Grier?” says Mrs. Hutchinson at last, and Karl is impelled to say that he intends to accompany them to London, when, at this critical state of affairs, there enters the villain of the play in the shape of Steindal’s agent with a contract in his hand and a stylographic pen in his waistcoat pocket.