"Very well, Miss Vesty Kirtland, very well. But there 's a marriage ceremony and a binding to 'love, honor and obey,' after which young women don't box their husbands' ears—aha!—at least, mine won't."
"Notely Garrison," said Vesty, with Basinly and womanly indignation, "I never fished for you in all my life—never!"
"Instinctive, darling; not your fault. Unconscious cerebration; do you understand?"
She did, a little, and she grievously disapproved of him.
"Kiss me, dearest," he pleaded. "You kissed me once, when I first came home."
"All the m-more reason why you ought not to ask me now. I w-wish you'd get your m-mind on something besides me."
Notely walked away, pulled up the anchor, and set sail again. Vesty composed herself at the end of the boat.
"Sweet-tempered child!" said he, regarding her from the helm.
She dipped her hand in the water and smoothed her stray locks; they curled up again. She was distressed, and Notely's mirthful eyes gave her no rest.
"My mind is still on you, Vesty—and will be for ever and aye, sweetheart."