"No; it is not enough, dearest," he said. "You don't understand. I'll put the banns up to-morrow—no; I'll get a special license. I want you for my own, all my own, Nell."
When they sailed into the slip by the jetty, Dick was waiting for them.
"Hal-lo!" he yelled. "I've been waiting for you for the last two hours. I've news for you."
"News?" said Drake.
Nell was coiling the sheet in a methodical fashion, and thinking of Drake's words.
"Yes. The Maltbys are going to give a dance, and you and I and Nell are asked."
"And who are the Maltbys?" he inquired, with a lack of interest which nettled Dick.
"The Maltbys are our salt of the earth," he replied; "they are our especial 'local gentry'; and, let me tell you, an invitation from them is not to be sneezed at."
"I didn't sneeze," said Drake, clasping Nell's hand as he helped her out of the boat.
"It's for the fifth," said Dick; "and it's sure to be a good dance; better still, it's sure to be a good supper. Now, look here, don't you two spoons say you 'don't care about it,' for, I've set my mind upon going."