“I know who she is,” he said.

Miss Edith Morris was surrounded by a treble circle of admiring friends, and seemed to be holding her own.  They all stopped when Carlton came up, and looked at him rather closely, and those whom he knew seemed to mark the fact by a particularly hearty greeting.  The man who had brought him up acted as though he had successfully accomplished a somewhat difficult and creditable feat.  Carlton bowed himself away, leaving Miss Morris to her friends, and saying that she would probably have to see him later, whether she wished it or not.  He then went to meet the aunt, who received him kindly, for there were very few people on the passenger list, and she was glad they were to have his company.  Before he left she introduced him to a young man named Abbey, who was hovering around her most anxiously, and whose interest, she seemed to think it necessary to explain, was due to the fact that he was engaged to Miss Morris.  Mr. Abbey left the steamer when the whistle blew, and Carlton looked after him gratefully.  He always enjoyed meeting attractive girls who were engaged, as it left him no choice in the matter, and excused him from finding out whether or not that particular young woman was the one.

Mrs. Downs and her niece proved to be experienced sailors, and faced the heavy sea that met the New York outside of Sandy Hook with unconcern.  Carlton joined them, and they stood together leaning with their backs to the rail, and trying to fit the people who flitted past them to the names on the passenger list.

“The young lady in the sailor suit,” said Miss Morris, gazing at the top of the smoke-stack, “is Miss Kitty Flood, of Grand Rapids.  This is her first voyage, and she thinks a steamer is something like a yacht, and dresses for the part accordingly.  She does not know that it is merely a moving hotel.”

“I am afraid,” said Carlton, “to judge from her agitation, that hers is going to be what the professionals call a`dressing-room’ part.  Why is it,” he asked, “that the girls on a steamer who wear gold anchors and the men in yachting-caps are always the first to disappear?  That man with the sombrero,” he went on, “is James M. Pollock, United States Consul to Mauritius; he is going out to his post.  I know he is the consul, because he comes from Fort Worth, Texas, and is therefore admirably fitted to speak either French or the native language of the island.”

“Oh, we don’t send consuls to Mauritius,” laughed Miss Morris.  “Mauritius is one of those places from which you buy stamps, but no one really lives or goes there.”

“Where are you going, may I ask?” inquired Carlton.

Miss Morris said that they were making their way to Constantinople and Athens, and then to Rome; that as they had not had the time to take the southern route, they purposed to journey across the Continent direct from Paris to the Turkish capital by the Orient Express.