Sometimes a shade of disappointment crossed her brow, as if she expected
some particular person to possess some particular name which that
particular person did not bear. At last her eyes sparkled.

'My name is Wentworth,' said the young man whose turn it was.

'Ah! any favourite place, Mr. Wentworth?' asked the purser blandly, as if
he had known Wentworth all his life.

'No, we don't care where we sit; but my friend Mr. Kenyon and myself
would like places together.'

'Very good; you had better come to my table,' replied the purser.
'Numbers 23 and 24--Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth.'

The steward took the cards that were given him, and placed them to
correspond with the numbers the purser had named. Then the young woman
moved gracefully along, as if she were interested in the names upon the
table. She looked at Wentworth's name for a moment, and saw in the place
next to his the name of Mr. Brown. She gave a quick, apprehensive glance
around the saloon, and observed the two young men who had arranged for
their seats at table now walking leisurely toward the companion-way. She
took the card with the name of Mr. Brown upon it, and slipped upon the
table another on which were written the words 'Miss Jennie Brewster.' Mr.
Brown's card she placed on the spot from which she had taken her own.

'I hope Mr. Brown is not particular which place he occupies,' said Jennie
to herself; 'but at any rate I shall see that I am early for dinner, and
I'm sure Mr. Brown, whoever he is, will not be so ungallant as to insist
on having this place if he knows his card was here.'