Next day Mr. Coventry was so stiff and sore he did not come down to breakfast. But Grace Carden, though very sleepy, made her appearance, and had a most affectionate conversation with Mr. Raby. She asked leave to christen him again. “I must call you something, you know, after all this. Mr. Raby is cold. Godpapa is childish. What do you say to—'Uncle'?”
He said he should be delighted. Then she dipped her forefinger in water. He drew back with horror.
“Come, young lady,” said he, “I know it is an age of burlesque. But let us spare the sacraments, and the altar, and such trifles.”
“I am not half so wicked as you think,” said Grace. Then she wrote “Uncle” on his brow, and so settled that matter.
Mr. Coventry came down about noon, and resumed his courtship. He was very tender, spoke of the perils they had endured together as an additional tie, and pressed his suit with ardor.
But he found a great change in the lady.
Yesterday, on Cairnhope Peak, she was passive, but soft and complying. To-day she was polite, but cool, and as slippery as an eel. There was no pinning her.
And, at last, she said, “The fact is I'm thinking of our great preservation, and more inclined to pray than flirt, for once.”
“And so am I,” said the man of tact; “but what I offer is a sacred and life-long affection.”
“Oh, of course.”