of Captain Stewart, who
happened to be sitting just behind her.

"Making a list of all your dances and Christmas frolicings,
little-er-ahem--, Miss?"

"Boylston, Captain Stewart. Oh, no, I rarely attend dances; there is so
much that is instructive to be enjoyed while at home. I am making some
notes in my diary."

"Don't say so. Find the outlook inspiring?" Captain Stewart laughed as
he looked out upon the dreary landscape, for the afternoon was lowery,
and certainly, the cheerless flat landscape between Washington and the
Junction was far from thrilling.

"Oh, I am not depending upon my visual sight for my inspiration, Captain
Stewart. Don't you think the study of one's fellow beings intensely
interesting?'

"Yes, it's a heap cheerier inside the car than outside on this
confoundedly soggy day," answered Captain Stewart, preparing to withdraw
from an even more depressing atmosphere than that beyond the car
windows, by turning to Rosalie, whose eyes were commencing to dance. But
Isabel had no idea of foregoing an opportunity to make an impression,
little guessing the sort of one she was in reality making.

"Yes, it is exceedingly damp today, but do you think we ought to allow
externals to affect us?" she asked.

"Eh? What? I'm afraid you're getting beyond my bearings. Lead won't
touch bottom."

Isabel smiled indulgently: One must be tolerant with a person forced to
spend his life within the limited bounds of a ship.

"Miss Sturgis, our instructor in sociology, advises us to be very
observing and to take notes of everything unusual. You know we shall
graduate next year and time passes _so_ swiftly. It seems only yesterday
that I entered Columbia Heights School, and here Christmas is upon us. I
have so little time left in which to accomplish all I feel I should, and
I could not graduate after I'd passed seventeen. I'd _die_ of
mortification. And, oh, that fact holds a suggestion. Pardon me if I
make a note of it, and--and--_how_ do you spell accomplished, Captain
Stewart? I really have so little time to give to etymology."

For one second Captain Stewart looked at the girl as though he thought
she might possibly be running him. He was more accustomed to the
fun-loving, joking girl than to this "cellar-grown turnip" as he
mentally stigmatized her. Then the little imps in Rosalie's eyes proved
his undoing:

"I'm afraid I'm no good as an English prof. Reckon I'd spell it
akomplish. Sounds as good as any other w