Among those on board thus chafing to escape from the limitations of an ocean voyage was George Colfax, whose eagerness to land was enhanced by the hope that his absence had made the heart of his lady-love fonder. His travels had been restful and stimulating; but there is nothing like one’s own country, after all. So he reflected as, cigar in mouth, he perused the newspapers which the pilot had brought, and watched the coast-line gradually change to the familiar monuments of Manhattan. Yet apparently there was a subconsciousness to his thought, for as he folded his last newspaper and stretched himself with the languor of a man no longer harried by lack of knowledge as to what has happened during the last seven days, he muttered under his breath: “Confound the customs anyway!” A flutter of garments and a breezy voice brought him politely to his feet. “That’s over with, thank Heaven!” The speaker was a charming woman from Boston, whose society he had found engrossing during the voyage--a woman of the polite world, voluble and well informed. “I just signed and swore to the paper they gave me without reading it,” she added, with a gay shrug of her shoulders, as though she were well content with this summary treatment of a distasteful matter. “Have you made your declaration yet?” she asked indifferently. “No.” “What I don’t understand is why they should make you take oath to a thing and then rummage through your trunks as though they didn’t believe you.” “It’s an outrage--an infernal outrage,” said George. “Every time the Government does it the spirit of American institutions is insulted.” “I haven’t much with me this time, anyway; they can hardly expect that a person will go to Europe for six months and not bring back more than one hundred dollars’ worth of things,” continued Miss Golightly artlessly. “One might almost as well stay at home. It isn’t as if I bought them to sell. They are my own ownty donty effects, and I’ve no intention of paying the Government one cent on them if I can help it. And they charge one for presents. Of course, I won’t pay on presents I have bought to give other people. That would simply make them cost so much more.” “The whole thing is a wretched and humiliating farce,” was George’s not altogether illuminating comment on this naive revelation of the workings of the female mind. He spoke doggedly, and then hummed the refrain of a song as though to keep up his courage. “Well, I’ll go and take my turn,” he said, with the air of aristocratic urbanity which made him a favorite in social circles. Miss Golightly detained him to add: “If you find any better method, I wish you’d let me know. It seemed the simplest way not to declare anything, and to trust to luck.” So great was the bustle and confusion that George was not conscious of the presence of his lively companion again until he heard her voice in his ear two hours later on the pier or platform where the baggage from the _Meteoric_ was being inspected.