"I must go over to the States very soon," Mr. Lind said.

"Papa!"

"The worst of it is," her father said, without heeding that exclamation
of protest, "that I have so much to do that can only be done by word of
mouth."

"I wish I could take the message for you," Brand said, lightly. "When
the weather looks decent, I very often take a run across to New York,
put up for a few days at the Brevoort House, and take the next ship
home. It is very enjoyable, especially if you know the officers. Then
the bagman--I have acquired a positive love for the bagman."

"The what?" said Natalie.

"The bagman. The 'commy' his friends call him. The commercial traveller,
don't you know? He is a most capital fellow--full of life and fun,
desperately facetious, delighting in practical jokes: altogether a
wonderful creature. You begin to think you are in another
generation--before England became melancholy--the generation, for
example, that roared over the adventures of Tom and Jerry."

Natalie did not know who Tom and Jerry were; but that was of little
consequence; for at this moment they began to descry "the white
chalk-line beyond the sea"--the white line of the English coast. And
they went on chatting cheerfully; and the sunlight flashed its diamonds
on the blue waters around them, and the white chalk cliffs became more
distinct.