‘You know very well,’ pursued the colonel’s bride, ‘that Miss Drowvey wouldn’t fall. You complained of it yourself. And you know how disgracefully the court-martial ended. As to our marriage; would my people acknowledge it at home?’
‘Or would my people acknowledge ours?’ said the bride of Tinkling.
Again the two warriors exchanged stony glances.
‘If you knocked at the door and claimed me, after you were told to go away,’ said the colonel’s bride, ‘you would only have your hair pulled, or your ears, or your nose.’
‘If you persisted in ringing at the bell and claiming me,’ said the bride of Tinkling to that gentleman, ‘you would have things dropped on your head from the window over the handle, or you would be played upon by the garden-engine.’
‘And at your own homes,’ resumed the bride of the colonel, ‘it would be just as bad. You would be sent to bed, or something equally undignified. Again, how would you support us?’
The pirate-colonel replied in a courageous voice, ‘By rapine!’ But his bride retorted, ‘Suppose the grown-up people wouldn’t be rapined?’ ‘Then,’ said the colonel, ‘they should pay the penalty in blood.’—‘But suppose they should object,’ retorted his bride, ‘and wouldn’t pay the penalty in blood or anything else?’
A mournful silence ensued.
‘Then do you no longer love me, Alice?’ asked the colonel.
‘Redforth! I am ever thine,’ returned his bride.