must, at first, though it's just as bad form as clinging to your horse's mane while riding in the Row. Your driver will take all the chances that a crowded thoroughfare gives him; he would scorn to leave more than an inch between your feet and a Guinness' beer dray; he will shake your flounces and furbelows in the very windows of the passing trams, but he is beloved by the gods, and nothing ever happens to him. The morning was enchanting, as I said, and, above all, the Derelict was better. “It's a grand night's slape I had wid her intirely,” said the housemaid; “an' sure it's not to-day she'll be dyin' on you at all, at all; she's had the white drink in the bowl twyst, and a grand cup o' tay on the top o' that.” Salemina fortified herself with breakfast before she went in to an interview, which we all felt to be important and decisive. The time seemed endless to us, and endless were our suppositions. “Perhaps she has had morning prayers and fainted again.” “Perhaps she has turned out to be Salemina's long-lost cousin.” “Perhaps she is upbraiding Salemina for kidnapping her when she was insensible.” “Perhaps she is relating her life history; if it is a sad one, Salemina is adopting her legally at this moment.” “Perhaps she is one of Mr. Beresford's wards, and has come over to complain of somebody's ill treatment.” Here Salemina entered, looking flushed and embarrassed. We thought it a bad sign that she could not meet our eyes without confusion, but I made room for her on the sofa, and Francesca drew her chair closer. “She is from Salem,” began the poor dear; “she has never been out of Massachusetts in her life.” “Unfortunate girl!” exclaimed Francesca, adding prudently, as she saw Salemina's rising colour, “though of course if one has to reside in a single state, Massachusetts offers more compensations than any other.” “She knows every nook and corner in the place,” continued Salemina; “she has even seen the house where I was born, and her name is Benella Dusenberry.” “Impossible!” cried Francesca. “Dusenberry is unlikely enough, but who ever heard of such a name as Benella! It sounds like a flavouring extract.” “She came over to see the world, she says.” “Oh! then she has money?” “No--or at least, yes; or at least she had enough when she left America to last for two or three months, or until she could earn something.” “Of course she left her little all in a chamois-skin bag under her pillow on the steamer,” suggested Francesca. “That is precisely what she did,” Salemina replied, with a pale smile. “However, she was so ill in the steerage that she had to pay twenty-five or thirty dollars extra to go into the second cabin, and this naturally reduced the amount of her savings, though it makes no difference since she left them all behind her, save a few dollars in her purse. She says she is usually perfectly well, but that she was very tired when she started, that it was her first sea-voyage, and the passage was unusually rough.”