He flushed a little as he answered, feeling that it was tiresome to have the unlucky fact that he was only twenty-one so persistently thrust before him.
“Then they are young men who have not had the honour of winning your affections. A man who has once loved you could never forget you. Indeed, it is more likely that you will forget me; you will have plenty of temptation to do so.”
She saw that she had vexed him. “Don’t be angry, dear; but you see the position is a very difficult one, and, if I could not be quite sure of you, it would be intolerable.”
“My darling, you may be as sure of me as woman can be of man; but don’t begin your doubts over again. They are settled now. Let us be quite happy just this one evening. No doubt there are plenty coming when we shall not be able to.”
And so they kissed each other and sailed on—homeward, alas! for it was getting late—and were perfectly happy.
Presently they drew near the shore, and there, at the identical spot where they had left him, stood the ancient mariner. His hands were in his pockets, his pipe was in his mouth, his eyes were fixed upon the deep.
Ernest grounded the little boat skilfully enough, and, jumping over the bow, he and the mariner pulled it up. Then Eva got out, and as she did so she thought, in the moonlight, that she noticed something resembling a twinkle in the latter’s ancient eye. She felt confused—there is nothing so confusing as a guilty conscience—and, to cover her confusion, plunged into conversation, while Ernest was finding some money to pay for the boat.
“Do you often let boats?” she asked.
“No, miss, only to Mr. Ernest in a general way” (so that wicked Ernest had set a trap to catch her).
“O, then, I suppose you go out fishing?”