"I have not yet begun to scowl," he assured her, and proceeded to show what superlatives of saturnine expression he held in reserve. "See here, Drennie, I know perfectly well that I'm a sheer imbecile to reveal the fact that you've made me mad. It pleases you too perfectly. It makes you happier than is good for you, but——"
"It's a terrible thing to make me happy, isn't it?" she inquired, sweetly.
"Unspeakably so, when you derive happiness from the torture of your fellow-man."
"My brother-man," she amiably corrected him.
"Good Lord!" he groaned in desperation. "I ought to turn cave man, and seize you by the hair—and drag you to the nearest minister—or prophet, or whoever could marry us. Then, after the ceremony, I ought to drag you to my own grotto, and beat you."
"Would I have to wear my wedding ring in my nose?" She put the question with the manner of one much interested in acquiring useful information.
"Drennie, for the nine-hundred-thousandth time; simply, in the interests of harmony and to break the deadlock, will you marry me?"
"Not this afternoon," she smiled. "Watch for the boom! I'm going to bring her round."
The young man promptly ducked his head, and played out the line, as the boat dipped her masthead waterward, and came about on the other tack. When the sails were again drumming under the fingers of the wind, she added:
"Besides, I'm not sure that harmony is what I want."