'They made her a grave too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true,
And all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe,'"—
quoted Bertie, jestingly.
Cecil disliked his manner, and felt irritated; but there she was, imprisoned, bootless, in her chair, while those appendages smoked damply in the fender.
"Dear me," she said, impatiently, "will that wind never drop! When shall we be able to start, I wonder?"
"Don't you think we are more comfortable here?" said he, lazily. "Remember what a row there'll be when we get home."
"Yes, you always get me into scrapes. Why did you bother me into this idiotic expedition?"
"Didn't you ask me to take you?" provokingly. "I am sure I understood you wished to come."
Cecil coloured angrily, and then burst out laughing.
"I can't afford to quarrel with you in this disgusting desolation, it would be like the two men in the lighthouse; but remember, sir, it goes down to your account when I am restored to my friends."
"The captive should not use threats. I am not intimidated. What should now forbid that I whirl you away on the next car to Ne Yock, and marry you right off? and then you would have to obey me ever afterwards."