“How thoughtful of you, Jona—I mean, Mr. Lovi—”
“Je—Jen—”
“Ben-my-chree! Sweet Ben-my-chree, I love but thee—”
“O, Jonathan!” whispered Jenny.
“O, Jenny!” gasped Jonathan.
They were on the dark side of the round house; the band was playing behind them, the sea was rumbling in front; there was a shuffle of feet, a sudden rustle of a dress; the lady glanced to the right, the gentleman looked to the left, and then for a fraction of an instant they were locked in each other’s arms.
“Will you go back with me, Jenny?”
“Well,” whispered Jenny. “Just to keep the tickets from wasting—”
“Just that,” whispered Lovibond.
Three quarters of an hour later they were sailing out of Douglas harbor on board the Irish packet that was to overtake the Pacific steamship next morning at Belfast. The lights of Castle Mona lay low on the water’s edge, and from the iron pier as they passed came the faint sound of the music of the band: