This description produced such a confusion in the mind of the widow, that she was glad when it came to an end. As for the captain, fearful that the “goose's wings” might be touched upon again, he thought it wisest to attempt another flight on those of Cupid.
“As I was sayin', Madam Budd, friendship is n't love; no, not a bit of it! Friendship is a common sort of feelin': but love, as you must know by exper'ence, Madam Budd, is an uncommon sort of feelin'.”
“Fie, Captain Spike, gentlemen should never allude to ladies knowing any thing about love. Ladies respect, and admire, and esteem, and have a regard for gentlemen; but it is almost too strong to talk about their love.”
“Yes, Madam Budd, yes; I dare say it is so, and ought to be so; and I ask pardon for having said as much as I did. But my love for your niece is of so animated and lastin' a natur', that I scarce know what I did say.”
“Captain Spike, you amaze me! I declare I can hardly breathe for astonishment. My niece! Surely you do not mean Rosy!”
“Who else should I mean? My love for Miss Rose is so very decided and animated, I tell you, Madam Budd, that I will not answer for the consequences, should you not consent to her marryin' me.”
“I can scarce believe my ears! You, Stephen Spike, and an old friend of her uncle's, wishing to marry his niece!”
“Just so, Madam Budd; that's it, to a shavin'. The regard I have for the whole family is so great, that nothin' less than the hand of Miss Rose in marriage can, what I call, mitigate my feelin's.”
Now the relict had not one spark of tenderness herself in behalf of Spike; while she did love Rose better than any human being, her own self excepted. But she had viewed all the sentiment of that morning, and all the fine speeches of the captain, very differently from what the present state of things told her she ought to have viewed them; and she felt the mortification natural to her situation. The captain was so much bent on the attainment of his own object, that he saw nothing else, and was even unconscious that his extraordinary and somewhat loud discourse had been overheard. Least of all did he suspect that his admiration had been mistaken; and that in what he called “courtin'” the niece, he had been all the while “courtin'” the aunt. But little apt as she was to discover any thing, Mrs. Budd had enough of her sex's discernment in a matter of this sort, to perceive that she had fallen into an awkward mistake, and enough of her sex's pride to resent it. Taking her work in her hand, she left her seat, and descended to the cabin, with quite as much dignity in her manner as it was in the power of one of her height and “build” to express. What is the most extraordinary, neither she nor Spike ever ascertained that their whole dialogue had been overheard. Spike continued to pace the quarter-deck for several minutes, scarce knowing what to think of the relict's manner, when his attention was suddenly drawn to other matters by the familiar cry of “sail-ho!”
This was positively the first vessel with which the Molly Swash had fallen in since she lost sight of two or three craft that had passed her in the distance, as she left the American coast. As usual, this cry brought all hands on deck, and Mulford out of his state-room.