“Oh, never, never!” she answered. It was true, she had never thought of that; there had not been time. Too much had come all at once. “Why should I? I cannot—cannot. Oh, it could not be—not at least for a long, long time, not for years and years, Philip.”
“Guida,” he answered gravely and persistently, “I want you to marry me—to-morrow.”
She was overwhelmed. She could scarcely speak. “To-morrow—to-morrow, Philip? You are laughing at me. I could not—how could I marry you to-morrow?”
“Guida, dearest,”—he took her hands more tightly now—“you must indeed. The day after to-morrow my ship is going to Portsmouth for two months. Then we return again here, but I will not go now unless I go as your husband!”
“Oh, no, I could not—it is impossible, Philip! It is madness—it is wrong. My grandfather—”
“Your grandfather need not know, sweetheart.”
“How can you say such wicked things, Philip?”
“My dearest, it is not necessary for him to know. I don’t want any one to know until I come back from Portsmouth. Then I shall have a ship of my own—commander of the Araminta I shall be then. I have word from the Admiralty to that effect. But I dare not let them know that I am married until I get commissioned to my ship. The Admiralty has set its face against lieutenants marrying.”
“Then do not marry, Philip. You ought not, you see.”
Her pleading was like the beating of helpless wings against the bars of a golden cage.