girl, busily engaged in transcribing figures into a little note-book attached by a gold chain to the daintiest of waists. Her face, a strikingly beautiful one, was a little set under its crown of coal-black hair as she bent over her task. It was not the head of a languorous Southern belle—rather the curls of Carmen helmeting a blue-eyed Minerva, a little goddess of reason of to-day and a thorough business-woman. At last she lifted her head.
"Maria-Teresa? ..."
"Dick!"
The heavy green ledger slipped and crashed to the floor, as she ran toward him both hands outstretched.
"Well, and how is business?"
"So, so.... And how are you?... But we did not expect you till to-morrow."
"We made rather a good passage."
"And how is May?"
"She's a very grown-up person now. I suppose you've heard? Her second baby was born just before we left."
"And dear smoky old London?"
"It was raining hard when last I saw it."
"But where is your uncle?"
"Still on board. He won't leave his collection.... Does nothing all day but take notes for his next book.... Wait a minute, I'll come
