"It would be a dangerous experiment!" she laughed; "to marry on faith, and find you a common rogue, when we got to London."
"Do I look a common rogue?" he smiled.
She turned and let her eyes move slowly over him. He was a brave figure, certainly, in his white silk coat and breeches—his cloth of silver waistcoat—his slender, well-shaped legs—his dark hair powdered—his handsome, aristocratic face.
"No—I admit you appear of the rank you claim; and you act it, too. But I must have more than appearances and acts."
He made a gesture of resignation and defeat.
"I have done my best," he said; "I am helpless to do more—unless you will come to London, and marry me there, after I have satisfied you of my identity."
"You mean it?" she demanded. Here was good faith.
"Unreservedly," he answered. "Anything to take you back with me. Though I would rather you went as wife."
He was doing his utmost to impress her—to have her intervene with the Governor, and keep the scandal hid.