Alec, the wise, as Sturgess had often styled him, showed exceeding wisdom now by letting her cry her fill. Never a word did he say until the tempest subsided. Then he took her hand again and drew her to him.
“Tell me one thing, Nina,” he said gently. “What became of the ring—our ring?”
“It is tied around my neck—on a bit of ribbon,” she sobbed.
“Then it shall remain there until we reach New York,” he said.
“But—I want—to keep it—as a souvenir—of all that has passed,” she said brokenly.
“So you shall, dear one. You would never feel satisfied, anyhow, with a Spanish marriage, so we’ll try an American one.”
“Alec, I cuc—cuc—can’t marry you. I’m too ashamed.”
He laughed happily, and drew her to him.
“You can’t wriggle out of the knot now, girlie,” he said. “But, just to behave like other folk, we’ll begin again at the beginning, and not at the end. Nina, do you think you can learn to love me quick enough to permit of a real wedding when we arrive in New York? You and I have gone through so many experiences since we met that we can dispense with some of the preliminaries to courtship. Shall we fix a date now? Say three weeks after we land, or sooner, if matters can be arranged.”