"Not at all ridiculous, sir. You say that you are perfectly happy—and everyone says that an engagement is the happiest time in one's life—and besides, it is partly your own fault; you have made me so fond of the Osprey that I have quite made up my mind that nothing could possibly be so nice as to spend our honeymoon on board her, and to go where we like, and to do as we like, without being bothered by meeting people one does not care for. And, besides, if you should get tired of my company, we might ask Jack Harley and Amy to come to us for a month or so."
"I don't think that it will be necessary for us to do that," he laughed. "Starting as we shall in the middle of March, we shan't find it too hot in the Mediterranean before we turn our head homewards; and I think we shall find plenty to amuse us between Gibraltar and Jaffa."
"No, three months won't be too much, Frank. Tomorrow is the dinner at the clubhouse, isn't it?"
"Yes. I should be sorry to miss that, for having only been just elected a member of the Squadron, I should like to put in an appearance at the first set dinner."
"Of course, Frank. I certainly should not like you to miss it."
The next evening Frank went ashore to dine at the club. An hour and a half later a yacht's boat came off.
"I have a note for Miss Greendale," the man in the stern said, as she came alongside; "I am to give it to her myself."
Bertha was summoned, and, much surprised, came on deck.
The man handed up the note to her. She took it into the companion, where a light was burning; her name and that of the yacht were in straggling handwriting that she scarcely recognised as Frank's.
She tore it open.