“I cannot understand, though, how he should come to know it,” she added, after a moment.
“Brownie—Brownie—it just suits you, Miss Douglas,” said Mr. Coolidge, taking in at one admiring glance the shining coils of brown hair, the liquid chestnut eyes, and the long, dark lashes which just now half concealed them.
“My name is Mehetabel Douglas, Mr. Coolidge,” Brownie said, coldly, and with dignity, not relishing his familiarity, nor the tender cadence which his voice had assumed.
He laughed aloud.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but such a name for you is an abomination. Don’t you ever shorten it?”
“I do not think it is very euphonious myself, Mr. Coolidge, and therefore, when I write it, I shorten it into Meta,” she explained, smiling at his indignation, and disarmed by his frankness.
“That is quite respectable. But what is the matter? I fear you have not recovered from your fall yet. Are you sure you are not injured by it?” he asked, anxiously, seeing she had grown very white again.
“No; but it gave me quite a shock, and I think the motion of the boat prolongs the dizziness. But I shall do very well if I can only sit down.”
“If this gentle swaying affects you so, I do not know what you will do when we come to move,” he replied, as he hastened toward the saloon with her.
Here they found the rest of the family, quite anxious at their non-appearance; and his mother and Isabel were not in the best frame of mind in the world when they saw the governess come in, leaning upon the arm of Wilbur.