have not spoken to anyone
except one family who sit near us on the deck, and they have asked us to
stay with them at their country place on the New Jersey shore. But--Oh! I
forgot to tell you, Mamma, Mr. Renour is on board. Is it not a strange
coincidence? He seemed very surprised to see us, and for a moment it was
quite awkward when I introduced him to Octavia--because she, not being deaf
like Aunt Maria, I knew would hear him calling me Lady Elizabeth and think
it odd, and he would be certain to discover from her that I am married. So
the best thing to do seemed to be to take a walk with him at once on the
top deck and explain matters--this was just before dinner in the twilight.

He told me it was unkind to have given him the slip as we did, and that he
had had "quite a worry" to "come up with" us--but if I imagined he was
going to let me get out of range again I was mistaken! You can't think,
Mamma, how difficult it was to screw up my courage to tell him I was
married--he has such nice brown eyes;--and although his language is more
remarkable than anything you ever heard, he is not the least little bit
common. At last I blurted it out straight and explained and asked him to
forgive me. He looked away at the sea for quite five minutes and his jaw
was square as a box. Then he turned round and held out his hand. "Say," he
said, "I expect you didn't mean to play a low down trick on me but it has
hit pretty straight anyway. We'll shake hands and I reckon I'll keep out of
your track for a day or so till I size up things and put them on the new
elevation." And then he went away, saying, "Good evening, Lady Valmond." I
could have cried, Mamma, I felt so small and paltry. He is a great big
splendid creature and I wish I had not been so silly as to pretend in the
beginning. Octavia thinks him delightful. He never appeared for two
days--then he came up as if nothing had happened; only he looks at my hat
or my chin or my feet now and never into my eyes as before, and he calls me
Lady Valmond every other minute--and that is irritating. We shall get in
to-morrow and this will be posted at Sandy Hook, so good-night, dearest
Mamma.

Your affectionate daughter,
ELIZABETH.

PLAZA HOTEL, NEW YORK

PLAZA HOTEL,
_NEW YORK._

Dearest Mamma,--We are here now, so this is where to address your letters.
We went to another hotel first but we could not stand the impudence of the
servants, and having to shout down the telephon