“I admit it seems unlikely,” said I. “Still, this is a wonderful age. Who can say what may be gained by the successful pirate!”
“You act one!” commented Aunt Lucinda. “It is brutal. It is outrageous. It is abominable. No gentleman would be guilty of such conduct.”
“I grant you,” said I, but flushed under the thrust. “But I am no longer a gentleman where that conflicts with the purpose of my piracy. I come of a family, after all, madam, who often have had their way in piracy.”
“And left a good useful business to go away to idleness! And now speak of doing large things! With whose money, pray?”
“You are very direct, my dear Mrs. Daniver,” said I mildly, “but the catechism is not yet so far along as that.”
“But why did you do this crazy thing?”
“To marry Helena, and with your free consent as her next friend,” said I, swiftly turning to her. “Since I must be equally frank. Please don’t go!” I said to Helena, for now, very pale, she was starting toward the cabin door. But she paid no heed to me, and passed.
“So now you have it, plainly,” said I to Mrs. Daniver.
She turned on me a face full of surprise and anger mingled. “How dare you, after all that has passed? You left the girl years ago. You have no business, no fortune, not even the girl’s consent. I’ll not have it! I love her.” The good woman’s lips trembled.
“So do I,” said I gently. “That is why we all are here. It is because of this madness called love. Ah, Mrs. Daniver, if you only knew! If I could make you know! But surely you do know, you, too, have loved. Come, may you not love a lover, even one like myself? I’ll be good to Helena. Believe me, she is my one sacred charge in life. I love her. Not worthy of her, no—but I love her.”