“Oh, that’s quite right,” said I, but I made up my mind to ask the Lieutenant for the book again. This I did later in the day, but he met me with so many excuses that I was tired at last. It seemed as though every gentleman on board of the vessel had been promised to read ‘Amelia’ before I might so much as see it again.
“Indeed, sir,” I said to Mr Fraser, before retiring to the ladies’ cabin that night, “I should be failing in my duty to the lovely Araminta if I put up with this discourtesy any longer. I don’t care what you say to the gentlemen, but if you can’t place the book at my service in the morning you’ll please be good enough to keep out of my sight,” and I refused to hear a word from him.
“Well, sir, where’s the book?” I asked my disobliging cavalier in the morning.
He seemed distressed. “Alas, madam——” he began.
“No more, sir,” said I. “If my wishes—say rather those of your Araminta—have so little weight with you, they shall by all means cease to be imposed upon you.”
“Indeed, madam, you wrong me. I had recovered the book from the person to whom I lent it, but while the decks were being washed before the ladies were risen, I happened to be skylarking, as we call it on board ship, with Mr Ranger, and the first volume, as it chanced, fell overboard and sunk. The others are at your service.”
“And all the gentlemen to whom it was promised?”
“Why, madam, I fear they must bear the loss.”
“Sir, you threw that book overboard of set purpose, knowing that I wished to read it.”
“I am not saying you are wrong, madam.”