"I am a passed midshipman now, Dorothy dear, and I'm certain to get my swab——"
"Swab, Mr. Maurice?" interrupted the young lady, archly.
"Yes, my epaulet—a lieutenant's commission—this year; you know what I mean, Miss Venour. And, oh, I do love you so! With my pay and what father will allow me and what your grandfather will allow you we can get along,—that is, if you love me well enough to try it."
There was a long pause. The young lady looked down at her feet, while the arm of the young man stole around her waist. Tired at last of waiting, though the position was a charming one, the young officer recalled her to herself by a slight squeeze, which was answered by a delightful little shriek from the girl.
"What was it you were saying?" she asked, hurriedly drawing away.
"I was telling you that I loved you," he answered with dignity, releasing her, "and asking you to marry me when I got to be a lieutenant, if you love me. You do, don't you, Dorothy?" abandoning his stateliness and bending toward her entreatingly.
"Ye—es, I—I—I think so, Mr. Maurice—James, then," she continued, in compliance with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "or Jim—or—" she hesitated a moment and added the word "dear."
His face brightened. He sprang toward her in boyish delight; but she checked his rush with a pretty little motion, and continued, calmly,—
"You are a very nice boy indeed, but you are so young, you know——"
"Young!" he replied; "I am nineteen, and you are only seventeen yourself! You are scarcely old enough to be married."