had been able to obtain for
several nights, Lady Agatha joined Cleggett at an eight-o'clock
breakfast. It was the first of May, and warm and bright; in a simple
morning dress of pink linen Lady Agatha stirred in Cleggett a vague
recollection of one of Tennyson's earlier poems. The exact phrases
eluded him; perhaps, indeed, it was the underlying sentiment of nearly
ALL of Tennyson's earlier poems of which she reminded him--those lyrics
which are at once so romantic and so irreproachable morally.

"We must give you Americans credit for imagination at any rate," she
said smilingly, making her Pomeranian sit up on his hind legs and beg
for a morsel of crisp bacon. "I awake in a boatyard after having gone
to sleep in a dismantled barge."

"Barge!" The word "barge" struck Cleggett unexpectedly; he was not
aware that he had given a start and frowned.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Lady Agatha, "how the dear man glares! What should
I call it? Scow?"

"Scow?" said Cleggett. He had scarcely recovered from the word
"barge"; it is not to be denied that "scow" jarred upon him even more
than "barge" had done.

"I beg your pardon," said Lady Agatha, "but what IS the Jasper B., Mr.
Cleggett?"

"The Jasper B. is a schooner," said Cleggett. He tried to say it
casually, but he was conscious as he spoke that there was a trace of
hurt surprise in his voice. The most generous and chivalrous soul
alive, Cleggett would have gone to the stake for Lady Agatha; and yet
so unaccountable is that vain thing, the human soul (especially at
breakfast time), that he felt angry at her for misunderstanding the
Jasper B.

"You aren't going to be horrid about it, are you?" she said. "Because,
you know, I never said I knew anything about ships."

She picked up the little dog and stood it on the table, making the
animal extend its paws as if pleading. "Help me to beg Mr. Cleggett's
pardon," she said, "he's going to be cross with us about his old boat."

If Lady Agatha had been just an inch taller or just a few pounds
heavier the playful mood itself would have jarred upon the fastidious
Cleggett; indeed, as she was, if she had been just a thought more
playful, it would have jarred. But Lady Agatha, it has been remarked
before, never went too far in any direction.

Even as she smiled and held out the dog's paws Cleggett was aware of
something in her eyes that was certainly not a tear, but was just as
certainly a film of moisture that might be a tea