be controlled by his parent; but he always seemed gentlemanly enough at our house, and my greatest objection to him is that he is not likely to inherit a dollar of his father’s money.  Louise and I decided to keep him dangling until we could learn the truth of this matter, for you can easily understand that with her exceptional attractions there is no object in Louise throwing herself away upon a poor man, or one who cannot give her a prominent position in society.  Imagine my horror, John, when I discovered last evening that my only child, whom I have so fondly cherished, has ungratefully deceived me.  Carried away by the impetuous avowals of this young scapegrace, whom his own father disowns, she has confessed her love for him—­love for a pauper!—­and only by the most stringent exercise of my authority have I been able to exact from Louise a promise that she will not become formally engaged to Arthur Weldon, or even correspond with him, until she has returned home.  By that time I shall have learned more of his history and prospects, when I can better decide whether to allow the affair to go on.  Of course I have hopes that in case my fears are proven to have been well founded, I can arouse Louise to a proper spirit and induce her to throw the fellow over.  Meantime, I implore you, as my daughter’s temporary guardian, not to allow Louise to speak of or dwell upon this young man, but try to interest her in other gentlemen whom you may meet and lead her to forget, if possible, her miserable entanglement.  Consider a loving mother’s feelings, John.  Try to help me in this emergency, and I shall be forever deeply grateful.”

“It’s from mother, isn’t it?” asked Louise, when he had finished reading the letter.

“Yes,” he answered gruffly, as he crumpled the missive and stuffed it into his pocket.

“What does she say, Uncle?”

“Nothing but rubbish and nonsense.  Eat your soup, my dear; it’s getting cold.”

The girl’s sweet, low laughter sounded very pleasant, and served to calm his irritation.  From her demure yet amused expression Uncle John guessed that Louise knew the tenor of her mother’s letter as well as if she had read it over his shoulder, and it comforted him that she could take the matter so lightly.  Perhaps the poor child was not so deeply in love as her mother had declared.

He was greatly annoyed at the confidence Mrs. Merrick had seen fit to repose in him, and felt she had no right to burden him with any knowledge of such an absurd condition of affairs just as he was starting for a holiday.  Whatever might be the truth of the girl’s “entanglement,”—­and he judged that it was not all conveyed in Martha Merrick’s subtle letter—­Louise would surely be free and unhampered by either love or maternal diplomacy for some time to come.  When she returned home her mother might conduct the affair to suit herself.  He would have nothing to do with it in any way.

As soon as luncheon was finished they rushed for the deck, and you may imagine that chubby little Uncle John, with his rosy, smiling face and kindly eyes, surrounded by three eager and attractive girls of from fifteen to seventeen years of age, was a sight to compel the attention of every passenger aboard the ship.