eclined. Now he could not; being a
simple Englishman, he had given his word and meant to abide by it.
There was one glimmer of hope; her father. He was a practical merchant
and would not permit a man without a past (often worse than a man with
one) to enter his establishment.

Thomas was not in love with Kitty. (Indeed, this isn't a love story at
all.) Stewards, three days out, are not in the habit of falling in
love with their charges (Maundering and Drool notwithstanding). He was
afraid of her; she vaguely alarmed him; that was all.

For seven years he had dwelt in his "third floor back"; had breakfasted
and dined with two old maids, their scrawny niece, and a muscular young
stenographer who shouted militant suffrage and was not above throwing a
brickbat whenever the occasion arrived. There was a barmaid or two at
the pub where he lunched at noon; but chaff was the alpha and omega of
this acquaintance. Thus, Thomas knew little or nothing of the sex.

The women with whom he conversed, played the gallant, the hero, the
lover (we none of us fancy ourselves as rogues!) were those who peopled
his waking dreams. She was La Belle Isoude, Elaine, Beatrice,
Constance; it all depended upon what book he had previously been
reading. It is when we men are confronted with the living picture of
some one of our dreams of them that women cease to dwell in the
abstract and become issues, to be met with more or less trepidation.
Back among some of his idle dreams there had been a Kitty, blue-eyed,
black-haired, slender and elfish.

Kitty sat down in her chair. "Well," she said, "I have found him."

"Found whom?" asked Mrs. Crawford.

"The private secretary."

"What?" Killigrew swung his feet to the deck. "What the dickens have
you been doing now? Who is it?"

"Webb."

"The steward?"

"Yes."

"Well, if that . . ." began Killigrew belligerently.

"Dad, either mother and I act as we please, or you may attend to the
home-bureau yourself. Mother, it was agreed and understood that I
should select any employee we might happen to need."

"It was, my dear."

"Very good. I want some one who will attend to the affairs honestly
and painstakingly. There must be no idler about the house; and any
young man . . ."

"Wouldn't an old one do?" suggested Killigrew.

"Whose set ideas would clash constantly with ours. And any young man
we know would idle and look on the whole affair as a fine joke. I've
had a talk with