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“‘Inquiries at the different hotels,'” read Kinney impressively, “‘failed to establish the whereabouts of his lordship and Lady Moya, and it is believed they at once left by train for Newport.'”

With awe Kinney pointed at the red funnels of the Mauretania.

“There is the boat that brought them to America,” he said. “I see,” he added, “that in this picture of him playing golf he wears one of those knit jackets the Eiselbaum has just marked down to three dollars and seventy-five cents. I wish–” he added regretfully.

“You can get one at New Bedford,” I suggested.

“I wish,” he continued, “we had gone to Newport. All of our BEST people will be there for the wedding. It is the most important social event of the season. You might almost call it an alliance.”

I went forward to watch them take on the freight, and Kinney stationed himself at the rail above the passengers gangway where he could see the other passengers arrive. He had dressed himself with much care, and was wearing his Yale hat-band, but when a very smart-looking youth came up the gangplank wearing a Harvard ribbon, Kinney hastily retired to our cabin and returned with one like it. A few minutes later I found him and the young man seated in camp- chairs side by side engaged in a conversation in which Kinney seemed to bear the greater part. Indeed, to what Kinney was saying the young man paid not the slightest attention. Instead, his eyes were fastened on the gangplank below, and when a young man of his own age, accompanied by a girl in a dress of rough tweed, appeared upon it, he leaped from his seat. Then with a conscious look at Kinney, sank back.

The girl in the tweed suit was sufficiently beautiful to cause any man to rise and to remain standing. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She had gray eyes and hair like golden-rod, worn in a fashion with which I was not familiar, and her face was so lovely that in my surprise at the sight of it, I felt a sudden catch at my throat, and my heart stopped with awe, and wonder, and gratitude.

After a brief moment the young man in the real Harvard hat-band rose restlessly and, with a nod to Kinney, went below. I also rose and followed him. I had an uncontrollable desire to again look at the girl with the golden-rod hair. I did not mean that she should see me. Never before had I done such a thing. But never before had I seen any one who had moved me so strangely. Seeking her, I walked the length of the main saloon and back again, but could not find her. The delay gave me time to see that my conduct was impertinent. The very fact that she was so lovely to look upon should have been her protection. It afforded me no excuse to follow and spy upon her. With this thought, I hastily returned to the upper deck to bury myself in my book. If it did not serve to keep my mind from the young lady, at least I would prevent my eyes from causing her annoyance.

I was about to take the chair that the young man had left vacant when Kinney objected.

“He was very much interested in our conversation,” Kinney said, “and he may return.”

I had not noticed any eagerness on the part of the young man to talk to Kinney or to listen to him, but I did not sit down.

“I should not be surprised a bit,” said Kinney, “if that young man is no end of a swell. He is a Harvard man, and his manner was most polite. That,” explained Kinney, “is one way you can always tell a real swell. They’re not high and mighty with you. Their social position is so secure that they can do as they like. For instance, did you notice that he smoked a pipe?”