natural, they were. 

 "Horrid people!" said Miss Hutchinson loudly. She elevated a lorgnette, and looked "poppa" up and down critically.  "Beer, Cincinnati," she decided in far-reaching tone. Cecilia squirmed. 

 "That dear baby in the steerage!" said Cecilia, to divert the offended Miss Hutchinson. 

 "Dirty!" commented the diverted.  "So absolutely degrading the way the lower classes have children! One after the other!" ended Miss Hutchinson. Cecilia did not voice it, but she wondered what other mode of entrance into the world was possible, one at a time, rarely two, having been the style for a good many years. 

 The baby began to whimper. Its mother slapped it vigorously. Cecilia looked away. She hated to see a child slapped. Johnny had often been most trying. She had rarely slapped him.... Then she turned and quite forgot the hot, whimpering baby of the steerage.... K. Stuyvesant Twombly stood behind her. He recognised the impulsive girl who had spoken to him at the small tomb of "Jane Lister, dear child," and he raised his hat and smiled. 

 Cecilia gasped. Then, she went below, and very quickly, to see her flowers. 

 "Oh, but you are nice," said Cecilia, "if your name is not!"  Then she looked away from K. Stuyvesant Twombly. She had not meant to say anything like that! It had simply come out! 

 The wind blew strongly and ruffled her hair. K. Stuyvesant Twombly watched her with a good deal of interest. She was quite different from any girl he'd ever met.... She watched first the rough sea which looked like a small boy's chewing gum, laid in a safe place waiting for the next chew ... grey, indented with the marks of small teeth. Then all the sea would slip below the rail, and all of the world would be sky. 

 "I was named," explained K. Stuyvesant, "Keefer, after a rich uncle. He died and left all his money for the support of Lutheran missions in China. After that my mother used to faint every time she'd think of my first name." 

 Cecilia laughed.  "I'm so sorry!" she said. "Does she still faint over it?" 

 "She died last February," answered K. Stuyvesant quietly. 

 "I'm so sorry!" said Cecilia again. K. Stuyvesant didn't answer. They were quiet for a few moments, both watching the tilt, and eclipse of the sky-line. At last the man spoke. "It is 

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