e on board ship. There is opportunity, propinquity,
and the community of interest which breaks down the barriers of ordinary
reserve. These relations, to be sure, are not always of the most lasting
character, and not infrequently are practically ended before the parties
thereto are out of the custom-house officer's hands and fade into
nameless oblivion, unless one happens to run across the passenger list
among one's souvenirs. But there are exceptions. If at this time the
question had been asked our friend, even by himself, whether, to put it
plainly, he were in love with Mary Blake, he would, no doubt, have
strenuously denied it; but it is certain that if any one had said or
intimated that any feature or characteristic of hers was faulty or
susceptible of any change for the better, he would have secretly
disliked that person, and entertained the meanest opinion of that
person's mental and moral attributes. He would have liked the voyage
prolonged indefinitely, or, at any rate, as long as the provisions held
out.

It has been remarked by some one that all mundane things come to an end
sooner or later, and, so far as my experience goes, it bears out that
statement. The engines were successfully repaired, and the ship
eventually came to anchor outside the harbor about eleven o'clock on the
night of the last day. Mary and John were standing together at the
forward rail. There had been but little talk between them, and only of a
desultory and impersonal character. As the anchor chains rattled in the
hawse-pipes, John said, "Well, that ends it."

"What ends what?" she asked.

"The voyage, and the holiday, and the episode, and lots of things," he
replied. "We have come to anchor."

"Yes," she said, "the voyage is over, that is true; but, for my part, if
the last six months can be called a holiday, its end is welcome, and I
should think you might be glad that your holiday is over, too. But I
don't quite understand what you mean by 'the episode and lots of
things.'"

There was an undertone in her utterance which her companion did not
quite comprehend, though it was obvious to him.

"The episode of--of--our friendship, if I may call it so," he replied.

"I call it so," she said decisively. "You have certainly been a friend
to _all_ of us. This episode is over to be sure, but is there any more
than that?"

"Somebody says that 'friendship is largely a matter of streets,'" said
John gloomily. "To-morrow you will go your w