"Mr. Whippleton is alone: he does not wish for any company to-day."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, evidently suspecting that I was wiser than I ought to be.
"Miss Collingsby is alone on board of the Marian. I am afraid she will be uneasy if you remain here any longer. If you are engaged to her, she must be very anxious about you."
"Don't be ugly and disagreeable, Phil. You are a good fellow. No one knows it better than I do. Now let us fix this thing up."
"I'm too thick to understand you."
"You are a good fellow, and I know you will help me out of this scrape," he continued, suddenly looking cheerful and pleasant, as though the whole difficulty had been solved.
"If you will do the right thing, I will help you out of it."
"I knew you would. You understand the matter. I do love Miss Collingsby, and she will tell you herself that she is not indifferent to me. She consented some time ago to elope with me, in my boat. We can run over to Lansing, St. Joseph, or some other town on the east side of the lake, be married, and return a happy couple. Since we are both agreed on this step, you are not hard-hearted enough to step between us. Her mother is willing, but her father, you know, is a stiff and unreasonable man. It will be all right with him when we return."
"Has Miss Collingsby consented to this step?" I asked.
"She consented to it once before, and if the way is open she will not object. Of course girls are coy about these things."