Meantime, Marie-Celeste herself had been making a new friend. A gentleman, entered on the passenger list as Mr. E. H. Belden, sat just at the entrance of the main stairway, a cigar poised in his left hand, a book balanced in his right; the book closed for the moment, with his forefinger marking the place, and his elbow resting on the arm of his steamer-chair. To all appearances, Mr. E. H. Belden was absorbed in meditation, and presumably in a line of thought suggested by the book be had temporarily suspended reading--a line of thought, at any rate, that made him wholly oblivious to his surroundings. It was somewhat of a surprise, therefore, for him to find his book flying out of one hand with a momentum that swept the cigar out of the other; but he did not need to look far or long for an explanation. “Oh, I'm so sorry,” gasped a breathless little body, as quickly as she could reverse engines and bring herself in front of the offended party. “It was very careless of me. I slipped because I tried to turn too short a corner. Please let me get the book for you,” and she bounded to the spot where it had landed, while Mr. Belden, detecting a faint scorching odor, hastened to rescue the lighted cigar from the folds of a steamer rug lying on the next chair.