“It is strange Edward should care to remain in the ship when her commander does not like him,” remarked Coralie.
“He stays in because of that—to thwart Tanerton,” laughed Verena lightly. “Partly, at least. But he thinks, you see, and I think, that his remaining for two voyages in a ship that has so good a name may tell well for him with papa. Now you know, Coral.”
The lovers met. Pym found her out through Mrs. Ball. And Verena, thoroughly independent in her notions, put on her bonnet, and walked with him up and down the Marylebone Road.
“We sail this day week, Vera,” he said. “My life has been a torment to me, fearing I should not see you before the ship went out of dock. And, in that case, I don’t think I should have gone in her.”
“Is it the Rose of Delhi?” asked Vera.
“Of course. I told you Gould would manage it. She is first-rate in every way, and the most comfortable ship I ever was in—barring the skipper.”
“You don’t like him, I know. And he does not like you.”
“I hate and detest him,” said Pym warmly—therefore, as the reader must perceive, no love was lost between him and Jack. “He is an awful screw for keeping one to one’s duty, and I expect we shall have no end of squalls. Ah, Verena,” continued the young man, in a changed tone, “had you only listened to my prayers at Crabb, I need not have sailed again at all.”
Mr. Edward Pym was a bold wooer. He had urged Verena to cut the matter short by marrying him at once. She stopped his words.