"Oh, fie, Morley!" said she, folding her hands upon his arm, and looking up smilingly in his face.
"And I must quietly endure his presence here, after this most annoying admission from you!"
"There is something worse still you may have to endure," said Ethel, sadly; "the voyage on which he may too probably accompany us."
Morley felt a keen pang in his breast at these words; he glanced, too, at the strange ring on Ethel's finger, which an emotion of pride or pique had hitherto prevented him from referring to.
"It seems preposterous, Ethel," he exclaimed, "that this man should propose to accompany you, while I, your affianced lover, am left behind; and, by Heaven, it shall not be so!"
"Dearest Morley!"
"Poor as I am, Ethel, I am not so poor that I cannot pay my way to the Mauritius—in the same ship, too, and I shall write this very night to London about it!"
"Oh, Morley—oh, what happiness!"
"I shall take a berth in the forecastle bunks, rather than be left behind. You have now at your breast a flower that Hawkshaw gave you."
"A flower!"