"My darling!" floated from her lips, no more than a breath. I had to lean close to her to hear. "I'm so happy, Ted!"
We stood upon the upper deck until dusk, watching the coast fade into the haze. At last it had gone, save for one far flashing light. We were at sea.
At dinner we found ourselves seated opposite a dear old English lady, who took one look at Helen and then and there resolved to "mother" her. We had hoped, half seriously, that we could escape passing as bride and groom. No sooner, however, had we taken our seats than a delighted steward brought in a large basket of white roses, set off with white ribbons. This he placed in front of Helen. It bore a card, with this legend: "From the Deep Harbor gang." The old English lady said, "How sweet of your friends, my dear." I had another opinion of their conduct. I didn't mind so much, for Helen was loveliest when she blushed.
After dinner we sat and talked a bit with the old English lady—a Mrs. Parsons from High Wycombe. To tell the truth, I liked to hear her call Helen "my dear." It was a good omen. She asked us a hundred questions which, somehow, we did not mind at all. Helen poured out her heart to her. It was "Ted this" and "Ted that" until I threatened to put my hand over her mouth.
"I shall call you Edward and Helen," Mrs. Parsons announced decisively. "It would be positively ridiculous to call two such babies Mr. and Mrs. Jevons. How old are you, Helen?"
"Nineteen," said Helen with absolutely her prettiest blush.
"And you, Edward?"
"Twenty-four," I confessed, as Helen most brazenly leaned against my shoulder.
"What your mothers were thinking of, I can't imagine," exclaimed Mrs. Parsons. "You shouldn't be out without a nurse."
When we went to our cabin Helen said: "I like to have people nice to us, don't you, Ted?"