r. Arbuton, by an impulse which he
would have been at a loss to explain, offered his card.

His action had the effect of frankness, and the other took it for
cordiality. He drew near a lamp, and looked at the name and street
address on the card, and then said, "Ah, of Boston! _My_ name is
Ellison; I'm of Milwaukee, Wisconsin." And he laughed a free, trustful
laugh of good companionship. "Why yes, my cousin's been tormenting
herself about her mistake the whole afternoon; but of course it's all
right, you know. Bless my heart! it was the most natural thing in the
world. Have you been ashore? There's a good deal of repose about
Tadoussac, now; but it must be a lively place in winter! Such a cheerful
lookout from these cottages, or that hotel over yonder! We went over to
see if we could get into the little old church; the purser told me there
are some lead tablets there, left by Jacques Cartier's men, you know,
and dug up in the neighborhood. I don't think it's likely, and I'm
bearing up very well under the disappointment of not getting in. I've
done my duty by the antiquities of the place; and now I don't care how
soon we are off."

Colonel Ellison was talking in the kindness of his heart to change the
subject which the younger gentleman had introduced, in the belief, which
would scarcely have pleased the other, that he was much embarrassed. His
good-nature went still further; and when his cousin returned presently,
with Mrs. Ellison, he presented Mr. Arbuton to the ladies, and then
thoughtfully made Mrs. Ellison walk up and down the deck with him for
the exercise she would not take ashore, that the others might be left to
deal with their vexation alone.

"I am very sorry, Miss Ellison," said Mr. Arbuton, "to have been the
means of a mistake to you to-day."

"And I was dreadfully ashamed to make you the victim of my blunder,"
answered Miss Ellison penitently; and a little silence ensued. Then as
if she had suddenly been able to alienate the case, and see it apart
from herself in its unmanageable absurdity, she broke into a confiding
laugh, very like her cousin's, and said, "Why, it's one of the most
hopeless things I ever heard of. I don't see what in the world can be
done about it."

"It _is_ rather a difficult matter, and I'm not prepared to say myself.
Before I make up my mind I should like it to happen again."

Mr. Arbuton had no sooner made this speech, which he thought neat, than
he was vexed with himself for