A Bookful Of Girls

A Bookful Of Girls
The Two Old Friends, Mr. John Dewitt And Mrs. Halliday, Were Reclining
Side By Side In Their Steamer-Chairs, Lulled Into A Quiescent Mood By
The Gentle, Scarcely Perceptible, Motion Of The Vessel. It Was An
Exertion To Speak, And Mrs. Halliday Replied Evasively, "Do You Like
The Name?"

"For Blythe,--Yes. But I Don't Know Another Girl Who Could Carry It
Off So Well. Tell Me How It Happened."

Then Blythe's Mother Reluctantly Gathered Herself Together For A
Serious Effort, And Said: "It Was The Old Scotch Nurse Who Did It. She
Called Her 'A Blythe Lassie' Before She Was Three Days Old. We Had
Been Hesitating Between Lucretia For Charles's Mother And Hannah For
Mine, And We Compromised On Blythe!"

Upon Which The Speaker, Allowing Her Eyes To Close Definitively, Took
On The Appearance Of Gentle Inanition Which Characterised Nine-Tenths
Of Her Fellow-Voyagers, Ranged Side By Side In Their Steamer-Chairs
Along The Deck.

They Had Passed The Azores, That Lovely May Morning, And Were Headed
For Cape St. Vincent,--The Good Old _Lorelei_ Lounging Along At Her
Easiest Gait, The Which Is Also Her Rapidest. For There Is Nothing
More Deceptive Than A Steamer's Behaviour On A Calm Day When The Sea
Offers No Perceptible Resistance To The Keel.

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