alone; but it turned out that she was to meet
her brother on board, who was to come off with
the next open boat with all the luggage. While
we waited for him, leaning over the bulwarks of
the ship, she with her parasol up, and both of
us looking across the sea towards the shore,
she told me a few little particulars about herself.
Her name was Flora Darling; she was
corning from a French school near Paris; that
is to say, from a school where English young
ladies were taken in, and which was kept by
Miss Tweaker, who in Bradshaw's Guide could
proudly refer to the Reverend Rupert Twells,
Chaplain at the Embassy, to the Reverend
Beaver Bowler, Chaplain at the Watering-places,
and to the Lord Bishop of Sloper's Island.

How old was her brother? I asked; that is,
Miss Darling's brother?

"Only fourteen," she said. "Scarcely a
chaperone," she added, with a burst of laughter;
"only a few months from the nursery. There
was no harm in it. One could do anything
travelling, you know."

"To be sure," I said. "Darling—Darling!"

She started.

"I was repeating your name," I said, smiling.
"A charming one—so musical and melodious—
Darling! I shall be saying it in the carriage
all the way up to town—Darling." (I put the
very slightest ghost of a pause between the two
last words.) As it was, she looked at me
curiously, and burst out laughing.

"You say it so funnily," she said. "I half
suspect you are very wicked. It's a pity, isn't
it, that I must lose it one day? So they tell
me. It's in the natural course of things, you
know."

"Inevitable," I said. " You must lose it,
Darling— the name, I mean. It would be no
more in nature," I added, fervently, "for you
to retain that name, than that—you could
fly backwards through that water to the town
over there."

(I was a little hard set for a comparison, but
this did fairly well.)

"I was very near flying backwards down the
steps," she said, with a burst of laughter, "only
for you."

"Yes," I said. "I believe I had the happiness
of saving you. Darling."

"Now," she said, in a grave voice, "I must
interdict your using that name of mine, for fear
of any mistakes."

"You do me wrong," I said. "Your brother
—I was speaking of him. He is a Darling, too,
is he not? At least in his way, I mean," I
added hastily, amending my speech, for fear she
should think I put any one on the same level
with herself.

The brother was a cub. He was about as
intelligent and as useful as a walking-stick. No
better choice could have been made. We might
talk all the way up to town as if we were alone.

We had a pleasant voyage. The rest of the
passengers were very unwell; which contributed
a good deal to the pleasantness; for we were both
perfectly well, and laughed a good deal at their
sufferings. We got to Dover, landed—this
time without boats (which I was a little sorry
for, as I had begun to like that operation of
descending ladders)—and passed the Customs
successfully. The Darling gave me her keys;
which, through my skill and adroitness—
that is to say, powers of corruption—were
rendered quite unnecessary. We passed a
splendid examination (as she put it comically,
seated in the carriage), while the miserable
passengers who had been ill were reeling about,
mistaking the Customs for their trunks, and the
officers for sailors. She told me in confidence
some details. Where was she going to in
town? To that new great hotel just opened,
where they could "put up" four hundred beds,
and where there was the ladies' sitting-room
decorated in the Arabesque manner by Owen
Jones, and where there was a pneumatic hoist
which——

It sounded like a dream. Had I not heard
all this before? and my prospectus-reading of
two years occurred to me.

"You mean," I said, "the Grand Metropolitan
Limited, in forty thousand shares of
five pounds each. So much paid up. Why, it
was only talked of then."

"It is a good deal talked of now," said a
gentleman with whiskers like a plate brusher.
"About the finest thing in London. People
go there who don't want to go to an hotel—who
are actually at another hotel. Merely for the
luxury of the thing. It is marvellous the
perfection they have brought the thing to. So
many thousand tons of water on the roof."

"I think I shall go there too," I said, enthusiastically.
"I have a lodging secured already,
but I would far sooner go to such an hotel—
where the darling—I mean Miss Darling—goes
to!" She asked me then how long I was to stay
in London. I replied, "An indefinite time," that
it might stretch from a day to a year. On
which she told me that she was determined to
enjoy herself; until, at least, her uncle came
up from the country to fetch her. That would
be in a week or ten days, or a fortnight, she
did not care how far off. "If," said I,
gravely, "in the absence of your excellent uncle,
a third person would be of any use to you, or,
I should rather say, if you would allow that
person to make himself useful to you during
your stay in the great metropolis, you would he
conferring a favour on him—a real favour, I
think," I added, "as the inmate of the same
hotel—the probable inmate—he has some claim
upon you. In this life, surely we should all
help one another a little."

A curious light came into her eyes. She was
going to reply favourably, when suddenly she
gave a start, half jumped up and clapped her
hands. "Why, there he is," she cried in delight;
"Call to him! Stop him! Bring him to me!"

Here was the old uncle. Confusion on him!
I went reluctantly to the window, and looked
up and down. "I can't see him," I said; "I
don't see any one!"

"To be sure there he is," she said, impatiently,