The pet illusion, the loss of which caused her the most severe shock, was that concerning the nobility. On the morning of our first day afloat the passenger lists were distributed. Hephzibah was early on deck. Fortunately neither she nor I were in the least discomfited by the motion of the ship, then or at any time. We proved to be good sailors; Hephzibah declared it was in the blood. “For a Knowles or a Cahoon to be seasick,” she announced, “would be a disgrace. Our men folks for four generations would turn over in their graves.” She was early on deck that first morning and, at breakfast she and I had the table to ourselves. She had the passenger list propped against the sugar bowl and was reading the names. “My gracious, Hosy!” she exclaimed. “What, do you think! There are five 'Sirs' on board and one 'Lord'! Just think of it! Where do you suppose they are?” “In their berths, probably, at this hour,” I answered. “Then I'm goin' to stay right here till they come out. I'm goin' to see 'em and know what they look like if I sit at this table all day.” I smiled. “I wouldn't do that, Hephzy,” said I. “We can see them at lunch.” “Oh! O--Oh! And there's a Princess here! Princess B-e-r-g-e-n-s-t-e-i-n--Bergenstein. Princess Bergenstein. What do you suppose she's Princess of?” “Princess of Jerusalem, I should imagine,” I answered. “Oh, I see! You've skipped a line, Hephzy. Bergenstein belongs to another person. The Princess's name is Berkovitchky. Russian or Polish, perhaps.” “I don't care if she's Chinese; I mean to see her. I never expected to look at a live Princess in MY life.” We stopped in the hall at the entrance to the dining-saloon to examine the table chart. Hephzibah made careful notes of the tables at which the knights and the lord and the Princess were seated and their locations. At lunch she consulted the notes. “The lord sits right behind us at that little table there,” she said, excitedly. “That table for two is marked 'Lord and Lady Erkskine.' Now we must watch when they come in.” A few minutes later a gray-haired little man, accompanied by a middle-aged woman entered the saloon and were seated at the small table by an obsequious steward. Hephzy gasped. “Why--why, Hosy!” she exclaimed. “That isn't the lord, is it? THAT?” “I suppose it must be,” I answered. When our own Steward came I asked him. “Yes, sir,” he answered, with unction. “Yes, sir, that is Lord and Lady Erkskine, sir, thank you, sir.” Hephzy stared at Lord and Lady Erkskine. I gave our luncheon order, and the steward departed. Then her indignant disgust and disappointment burst forth. “Well! well!” she exclaimed. “And that is a real live lord! That is! Why, Hosy, he's the livin' image of Asaph Tidditt back in Bayport. If Ase could afford clothes like that he might be his twin brother. Well! I guess that's enough. I don't want to see that Princess any more. Just as like as not she'd look like Susanna Wixon.”