How sweet it was of her; how confiding!
"But our names on the passenger list?" I said.
"That is all arranged. We are Mr. and Mrs. Camwell."
It was bliss enough for one day. Nothing but the purest thoughts regarding her could enter my head now. She was to be my wife!
The next morning she arranged a pleasant way to pass the time. Our cabin was very large and roomy, and she said she could go on with my "novel" quite as well there as on shore. She made me recline on my berth, which had no other above it, and dictation was therefore done entirely at my ease. It was undoubtedly better for me to keep my mind actively employed, and the task to which I set myself was a most agreeable one. My darling recorded the lines I gave her, with rapidity, and made very few audible comments that day, although it was evident from the tell-tale expression of her mobile countenance that she was keenly alive to each situation I detailed. The lines that seemed to affect her most were those wherein I confessed the depth, the sincerity and the purity of the love that had sprung up in my heart.
She could not complain that I was misrepresenting her own part in these affairs, for I thought no alteration could improve a straightforward statement of the real facts as they appeared to me. She winced a little—I thought more about that afterwards—when I referred to seeing Wesson in my stateroom on the Pretoria and again when I spoke of meeting him in close converse with Edgerly in Barbados.
The nearest she came to a full stop was when I related the reasons I had for believing Wesson stole the book from Eggert and was more than likely the thief who had taken the jewels, but after a second her fingers flew over the keys as usual.
The waters through which we were passing were smooth as any millpond. I have never seen so calm a sea, and my tranquil mind sorted with it perfectly. There was nothing that could add to my happiness. I believed each revolution of the steamer's screw brought me nearer the goal of my ambition, the possession of my lovely companion as my true and lawful bride. In the meantime I was producing what I had no doubt would give me a successful embarkation on the sea of literary fame, a voyage I had long aspired to take.
During the three days the "Don" occupied in going from Greytown to Kingston we accomplished much. Marjorie gasped several times when I came to the chapter that detailed my entrance into Wesson's room and my success in finding the packet containing the missing diamonds. As I told of my interview with the rascal she grew as pale as chalk, but she did not entirely stop her writing. At last we came to the time when the "novel" itself was begun and she brightened enough to say that we were walking now in our own tracks. But, at the bald revelation of the things I had said to her when I lost my temper, and demanded back the very clothes she wore, she protested.
"You are unjust to yourself to put that literally in your story," she said, pleadingly. "Your readers will never feel the extent of your provocation. It makes you appear a very detestable character."