She put both arms around his shoulders as she had done a hundred times to console some childish grief, and sudden tears rained from the eyes she raised to her husband.
The captain rose, and walked over to the window.
Irving lifted his cheek to Betsy’s breast.
“Mr. Irving, dear,” she said brokenly, “you know—”
“Yes. Don’t explain. Don’t speak. I know. But I remember, Betsy. I remember so much, that I couldn’t stay away. My mother and you, Betsy. My mother and you.—So much.—So much that I can’t say—But my heart is full of it—and I wanted to kiss you—to kiss you before I went to sleep.”
“Darling boy! Darling child!” said Betsy, and pressed her cheek against his hair.
Then she kissed him tenderly, and he her, and he rose, and with a parting caress of his hand upon hers, crossed to the bridegroom, quietly blowing his nose by the window.
“Congratulations,” he said thickly.
The captain seized his offered hand speechlessly, and a mighty mutual grip ensued.
Then Irving slipped out of the open door, closed it softly behind him, and ran down the garden’s perfumed path.