"But Miss—"
"Grouch," chirped the young lady melodiously.
"—will be locked up—"
"In the donjon-keep," chuckled the lawyer. "Chapter the seventh. Who says that romance has died out of the world?"
"But if Mrs. Denyse carries out her threat and tells the captain—"
"The Wicked Ogre, you mean. If you love me, the Wicked Ogre. And he will lock the Lovely Princess in the donjon-keep until the dumb but devoted Prince arrives in time—just in the nick of time—to effect a rescue. That comes in the last chapter. And then, of course, they were mar—"
"I'm tired of fairy-tales," said Little Miss Grouch hastily. "It won't be a bit funny to be locked up—"
"With three grains of corn per day and a cup of sour wine. Hans Christian Andersen never did anything like this!" crowed the enchanted lawyer.
"Meantime," observed the Tyro, with the calm of despair, "Mrs. Denyse has found the captain."
"Presto, change!" said Judge Enderby, catching each by an arm and hurtling them around the curve of the cabin. "We come back to the dull reality of facts, retainers and advice. Fairy Prince,—young man, I mean,—you go and watch for icebergs over the port bow until sent for. Miss Wayne, you come with me to a secluded spot where the captain can't discover us for an hour or so. I have a deep suspicion that he isn't really in any great haste to find you."