“Is that all?” said Kate. Her heart leapt for joy. She could not help it—she laughed. She saw through Philip's excuse. It was only his subterfuge—he thought Pete would not marry without him.
“Aw, but you never seen the like, though, Kirry,” said Pete; “he was that white and wake and narvous. Work and worry, that's the size of it. There's nothing done in this world without paying the price of it, and that's as true as gospel. 'The sea's calling me, Pete,' says he, and then he laughed, but it was the same as if a ghost itself was grinning.”
In the selfishness of her enfeebled spirit, Kate still rejoiced. Philip was suffering. It was another assurance that he would come to her relief.
“When does he go?” she asked.
“On Tuesday,” answered Pete.
“Isn't there a way of getting a Bishop's license to marry in a week?” said Kate.
“But will you, though?” said Pete, with a shout of joy.
“Ask Philip first. No use changing if Philip can't come.”
“He shall—he must. I won't take No.”
“You may kiss me now,” said Kate, and Pete plucked her up into his arms and kissed her.