“Ah!” Mrs. Edis had not liked the Captain; this explanation was plausible. “Why have you come here to-day?” she asked abruptly. “Do you wish to marry my daughter?”
France would have liked to do his own wooing, nibbling its uncommon delights daily, until the sojourn at St. Kitts was almost exhausted. He was an epicure of sorts, even in his coarser pleasures. But he had been warned that in Mrs. Edis he had no ordinary mother to deal with, and he answered her with responsive directness.
“I do. She’s the first girl I’ve ever wanted to marry. Do you think she’ll have me?”
His voice trembled, his face flushed again. He looked ten years younger. Mrs. Edis’s doubts vanished.
“She’ll do what I bid her do. I wish her to marry you. Of course she cares nothing for you, as yet. You will have to win her with kindness and consideration after she marries you. You can see her here every day, if you wish it, and for a few moments in the garden, alone. But don’t expect to make much headway with her before marriage. She is full of romantic dreams, and—and—very innocent.”
His eyes flashed with an expression to which she had no key, but it gave way at once to suspicion, and he asked sombrely: —
“Is she in love with any one else?”
“She never exchanged a sentence with a young man before last night, and you monopolized her.”
There was a curious motion behind his heavy moustache, but it was brief and his eyes looked foolishly sentimental.
“Good! Good!” he said, with what sounded like youthful ardor. “That’s the girl for me. They’re gettin’ rarer every day.”