“I am running away because I am not pleased with you,” she said, bravely and glibly. “You treat me as if I were a baby. I am grown up, and am entitled to some respect and consideration, particularly now that I am your wife. I wish to be consulted about things. When I get on board the Merrimac I do not wish to be told I must do this and I must do that.”
He did not speak for a minute. She supposed that he was trying to subdue his wrath, but he was going over a few sentences to himself in a puzzled fashion. “What is that fellow’s name,—Jerrold, is it?—says, ‘While they’re maids they’re mild as milk. Make ’em wives and they set their backs against their marriage certificates and defy you.’”
“I am no better than a puppet,” said the girl excitedly.
“Puppet, that’s good!” said the seafaring man, softly, “and glory to Cupid, she’s getting stirred up. I dare say I do boss her.”
“You have stated your grievance,” he said, in a low growl; “what redress do you ask?”
“I want you to—to let me do as I like about—about going or staying with you.”
“You want to frighten me out of my senses to keep me from making love to you, little witch,” he reflected, “and you’re using this girl as a screen. I see,” he said aloud, “your present most earnest desire is to go and visit this girl you love so much, and let me go away without you. Then after I have had a trip to England and back, which will give me ample time to meditate on the folly of my ways, I may come and get you.”
She did not reply for a minute. “Seems to be having some difficulty with her organs of speech,” soliloquised the man behind the tree. “Just for contrariness, I’ll check. Have your own way,” he said, with well-assumed surliness. “I wouldn’t take you with me to-morrow for a thousand pounds.”
The girl was terrified. She had gone too far. She had roused the ugly, black, Spanish temper of whose existence she was well aware, but of which she had never seen an exhibition. “Esteban,” she said, piteously, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings; if you would only let me do a little more as I want to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” he uttered, in a sepulchral voice; “why did you wait to blight our marriage day?”