eply.

"I thought I should like the broth better," he objected.

"I don't think it will disagree with you," she said.

"Perhaps I had better have the _consomme_," he argued, looking with
appeal to his wife and then to the girl at his right. "Which would you
take, Mary?"

"I?" said the young woman; "I should take both in my present state of
appetite.--Steward, bring both soups.--What wine shall I order for you,
Julius? I want some champagne, and I prescribe it for you. After your
mental struggle over the soup question you need a quick stimulant."

"Don't you think a red wine would be better for me?" he asked; "or
perhaps some sauterne? I'm afraid that I sha'n't go to sleep if I drink
champagne. In fact, I don't think I had better take any wine at all.
Perhaps some ginger ale or Apollinaris water."

"No," she said decisively, "whatever you decide upon, you know that
you'll think whatever I have better for you, and I shall want more than
one glass, and Alice wants some, too. Oh, yes, you do, and I shall order
a quart of champagne.--Steward"--giving her order--"please be as quick
as you can."

John had by this fully identified his neighbors, and the talk which
ensued between them, consisting mostly of controversies between the
invalid and his family over the items of the bill of fare, every course
being discussed as to its probable effect upon his stomach or his
nerves--the question being usually settled with a whimsical
high-handedness by the young woman--gave him a pretty good notion of
their relations and the state of affairs in general. Notwithstanding
Miss Blake's benevolent despotism, the invalid was still wrangling
feebly over some last dish when John rose and went to the smoking room
for his coffee and cigarette.

When he stumbled out in search of his bath the next morning the steamer
was well out, and rolling and pitching in a way calculated to disturb
the gastric functions of the hardiest. But, after a shower of sea water
and a rub down, he found himself with a feeling for bacon and eggs that
made him proud of himself, and he went in to breakfast to find, rather
to his, surprise, that Miss Blake was before him, looking as
fresh--well, as fresh as a handsome girl of nineteen or twenty and in
perfect health could look. She acknowledged his perfunctory bow as he
took his seat with a stiff little bend of the head; but later on, when
the steward was absent on some order, he elicited a "Thank you!" by
handing