l countenance, "I
believe they have gone to the White Mountains."

"Oh, not lost, but gone before. You believe? If you knew the nights I
have lain awake thinking about you two, or you three! I fear you have
not been wide-awake enough yourself."

"I knew I could depend on you, Mrs. Farquhar, for that."

The steamer was moving off, taking a wide sweep to follow the channel.
The passengers were all engaged in ascertaining the names of the islands
and of the owners of the cottages and club-houses. "It is a kind of
information I have learned to dispense with," said Mrs. Farquhar. And
the tourists, except three or four resolutely inquisitive, soon tired
of it. The islands multiplied; the boat wound in and out among them
in narrow straits. To sail thus amid rocky islets, hirsute with firs,
promised to be an unfailing pleasure. It might have been, if darkness
had not speedily fallen. But it is notable how soon passengers on a
steamer become indifferent and listless in any sort of scenery. Where
the scenery is monotonous and repeats itself mile after mile and
hour after hour, an intolerable weariness falls upon the company. The
enterprising group who have taken all the best seats in the bow, with
the intention of gormandizing the views, exhibit little staying
power; either the monotony or the wind drives them into the cabin. And
passengers in the cabin occupying chairs and sofas, surrounded by their
baggage, always look bored and melancholy.

"I always think," said Mrs. Farquhar, "that I am going to enjoy a ride
on a steamer, but I never do. It is impossible to get out of a draught,
and the progress is so slow that variety enough is not presented to
the eye to keep one from ennui." Nevertheless, Mrs. Farquhar and King
remained on deck, in such shelter as they could find, during the three
hours' sail, braced up by the consciousness that they were doing their
duty in regard to the enterprise that has transformed this lovely stream
into a highway of display and enjoyment. Miss Lamont and the artist went
below, frankly confessing that they could see all that interested them
from the cabin windows. And they had their reward; for in this little
cabin, where supper was served, a drama was going on between the
cook and the two waiting-maids and the cabin boy, a drama of love and
coquetry and jealousy and hope deferred, quite as important to those
concerned as any of the watering-place comedies, and played with entire
unconsciousness