meet by chance on some unexpected visit, or coming into a harbor on
different yachts.

"Isn't that the _Sea-Mew's_ flag?" Christine would say languidly. "I
rather think my father is on board."

And then, perhaps, some amiable hostess in need of an extra man would
send the launch to the _Sea-Mew_ to bring Mr. Fenimer back to dine; and
he would come on board, very civil, very neat, very punctilious on
matters of yachting etiquette; and he and Christine having exchanged
greeting, would find that they had really nothing whatsoever to say to
each other.

Their only vital topic of conversation was money, and as this was always
disagreeable, both of them instinctively tried to avoid it. Whenever
Fenimer had money, he either speculated with it, or immediately spent it
on himself. So that he was always able to say with perfect truth,
whenever his daughter asked for it, that he had none. The result of this
was that she had easily drifted into the simple custom of running up
bills for whatever she needed, and allowing the tradesmen to fight it out
with her father.

Such a system does not tend to economy. Christine's idea of what was
necessary, derived from the extravagant friends who offered her the most
opportunity for amusing herself, enlarged year by year. Besides, she
asked herself, why should she deny herself, in order that her father
might lose more money in copper stocks?

Sometimes during one of their casual meetings, he would say to her under
his breath: "Good Heavens, girl, do you know, I've just had a bill of