Madge and Danton, supplemented by the entire crew of the West Wind, were the witnesses at the wedding.
It seemed to Fessenden that Betty’s eyes were bluer than the sea that broke on the inlet bar, and the light in them more mysterious and wonderful. She looked a fair and innocent child.
He answered the minister’s questions, and even signed the marriage certificate, in a sort of daze, a daze from which he roused himself only after they had eaten the wedding breakfast on the West Wind, and having boarded the Wisp, were waving farewell to the others across the water.
Betty serenely assumed command. “I’ll take the wheel, Boatswain Bob,” she said, “and you get up sail.”
He cast off from the float, and set jib, flying jib, and mainsail in a trice. As the sloop gathered headway, the helmswoman stood under the stern of the larger yacht.
“Good-by, good-by, children,” called Danton patronizingly.
“Bon voyage, children,” chorused Madge. “Be sure to love each other.”
“Good-by, old married people,” retorted Fessenden.
The Wisp stood wing-and-wing down the sound. Fessenden lounged at his ease beside the charming captain.
“Betty,” he said, “has it yet occurred to you that you are really my wife?”