mention may be made of two young men, Balderstone and Osborne, who
sat chatting gayly together in the smoking-room.

"Well, Osborne," said one, lighting his cigar, "she didn't arrive."

"No," smiled the other. "Fact is, Balderstone, I'm glad of it.
She's too snippy for me, and I'm afraid I should have quarrelled with
you about her in a half-hearted, unconvincing manner."

"I'm afraid I'd have been the same," rejoined Balderstone; "for,
between us, there's a pretty little brunette from Chicago up on deck,
and Marguerite Andrews would have got little attention from me while
she was about, unless Harley violently outraged my feelings and his
own convictions."

And so the New York sailed out to sea, and Marguerite Andrews watched
her from the pier until she had faded from view.

As for Stuart Harley, the author, he sat in his study, wringing his
hands and cursing his carelessness.

"I'll have to modify the whole story now," he said, impatiently,
"since it is out of my power to bring the New York back into port,
with my hero, villain, chaperon, and twins; but whenever or wherever
the new story may be laid, Marguerite Andrews shall be the heroine--
she interests me. Meantime let Mrs. Willard chaperon her."

And closing his manuscript book with a bang, Harley lit a cigarette,
put on his hat, and went to the club.