At the wedding breakfast in the barn at Ballavolly Davy made a speech. It was a sermon to young fellows on the subject of sweethearts. “Don’t you marry for land,” said he. “It’s muck,” said he. “What d’ye say, Billiam—you’d like more of it? I wouldn’t trust; but it’s spaking the truth I am for all. Maybe you think about some dirty ould trouss: ‘She’s a warm girl, she’s got nice things at her—bas’es and pigs, and the like of that.’ But don’t, if you’rr not a reg’lar blundering blockit.” Then, looking down at the top of Nelly’s head, where she sat with her eyes in her lap beside him, he softened down to sentiment, and said, “Marry for love, boys; stick to the girl that’s good, and then go where you will she’ll be the star above that you’ll sail your barque by, and if you stay at home (and there’s no place like it) her parting kiss at midnight will be helping you through your work all next day.”
The parting kiss at midnight brought Davy’s oration to a close, for a tug at his coat-tails on Nelly’s side fetched him suddenly to his seat.
Two hours afterward the landau was rolling away toward the Castle Mona Hotel at Douglas, where, by Nell’s arrangement, Capt’n Davy and his bride were to spend their honeymoon.
CHAPTER II.
Now it so befell that on the very day when Capt’n Davy and Mrs. Quiggin quarreled and separated, two of their friends were by their urgent invitation crossing from England to visit them, Davy’s friend was Jonathan Lovibond, an Englishman, whose acquaintance he had made on the coast. Mrs. Quiggin’s was Jenny Crow, a young lady of lively manners, whom she had annexed during her four years’ residence at Liverpool. These two had been lovers five years before, had quarreled and parted on the eve of the time appointed for their marriage, and had not since set eyes on each other. They met for the first time afterward on the steamer that was taking them to the Isle of Man, and neither knew the destination of the other.
Miss Crow looked out of her twinkling eyes and saw a gentleman promenading on the quarter-deck before her, whom she must have thought she had somewhere seen before, but that his gigantic black mustache was a puzzle, and the little imperial on his chin was a baffling difficulty. Mr. Lovibond puffed the smoke from a colossal cigar, and wondered if the world held two pair of eyes like those big black ones which glanced up at him sometimes from a deck stool, a puffy pile of wool, two long crochet needles, and a couple of white hands, from which there flashed a diamond ring he somehow thought he knew.
These mutual meditations lasted two long hours, and then a runaway ball of the wool from the lap of the lady on the deck stool was hotly pursued by the gentleman with the mustache, and instantly all uncertainty was at an end.
After exclamations of surprise at the strange recognition (it was all so sudden), the two old friends came to closer quarters. They touched gingerly on the past, had some tender passages of delicate fencing, gave various sly hits and digs, threw out certain subtle hints, and came to a mutual and satisfactory understanding. Neither had ever looked at anybody else since their rupture, and therefore both were still unmarried.
Having reached this stage of investigation, the wool and its needles were stowed away in a basket under the chair, in order that the lady might accept the invitation of the gentleman to walk with him on the deck; and as the wind had freshened by this time, and walking in skirts was like tacking in a stiff breeze, the gentleman offered his arm to the lady, and thus they sailed forth together.