“I see,” said Miss Allen, raising her eyebrows slightly.
“In that case, I’ll proceed to tell you that slaving is not my chosen vocation, and, if you are unfortunate enough to marry Mr. Curtis, and thus control the sinews of the enterprise, I would like to have the crew diminished by one or two hands, beginning with me.”
“Did it ever occur to you that the captain might be the person to whom you should make the request,” she answered, smiling a little.
“It did occur to me that he might be the one, but, on considering his peculiar and hasty actions, it occurred later to me that he might not.”
“Well, if you intend to wait until the misfortune overtakes me that you suggest, I’m afraid there is little use of your sublime impudence.”
“If that is really true,” said I, without hardly knowing what I was saying, “I will be content to be slaver, or even pirate, for that matter. If you really don’t intend to--”
“That will do, sir! Be still!” she cried, now aroused. Then she arose from her chair, and, looking like an angry goddess, turned about to face Mr. Curtis, who had stepped out of the house, and who had evidently lost very little of the last part of our conversation.
“Good evening, Miss Allen,” said he. “When you get through talking to that sailor about your private affairs, we might take a little stroll before dark.”
“I hardly feel it necessary under the circumstances,” said the girl.
“You might later on,” said he. His voice was cold, but his eyes held smouldering fires that flashed ominously.