Poor Josephine was greatly distracted at the ugly prospect of love in a back street that she had conjured up for herself, and her resolution began to waver. The social difference between her and her chosen husband was so enormous, and the discomforts that she would be obliged to endure in the humble surroundings that awaited her presented themselves to her mind so vividly, that she had almost resolved that instead of eloping with Ralph, she would unpack her dressing-bag, put her hair up in Hinde’s curlers, and go to bed like a good girl. I regret to think that, in contemplating this step, she was influenced solely by the fact that if she married Ralph she would have to surrender all the luxuries she was accustomed to, and that remorse for being about to break the heart of her affectionate and indulgent father did not appear to influence her in the least. I am very partial to Josephine, but I cannot regard her in the light of a thoroughly estimable young lady.
Sir Joseph endeavoured in vain to catch the words of Josephine’s song, but she had been taught the Italian method of singing, which consists in “la-la-ing” all the vowels and allowing the consonants to take care of themselves, and consequently the words of her song were quite unintelligible to him—indeed they might have been Hebrew for anything he could tell. So when she had finished, he and Captain Corcoran approached her.
“Madam,” said he, “it has been represented to me that you are appalled by my exalted rank. I desire to convey to you, officially, my deliberate assurance that if your hesitation is attributable to that circumstance, it is unequivocally uncalled for.”
It is a rule at the Admiralty that when a person in authority has to make an announcement he is bound to use all the longest words he can find that will express his meaning.
“Oh, indeed,” replied Josephine; “then your Lordship is of opinion that married happiness is not inconsistent with discrepancy in rank?”
This was artful on Josephine’s part, for if Sir Joseph agreed, he would practically be admitting that there was no reason why Josephine should not condescend to marry a common sailor if she had a mind to do so.
“Madam,” said Sir Joseph, loftily, “I am officially of that opinion,” and he took a pinch of snuff with an air that suggested that he had finally settled the question once for all.
“I thank you, Sir Joseph,” she replied, with a low curtsey. “I did hesitate, but I will hesitate no longer.” And with another curtsey she retired to her own cabin, muttering to herself, “He little thinks how successfully he has pleaded his rival’s cause!”
The Captain, who shared Sir Joseph’s impression that Josephine had made up her mind to accept him, was overjoyed.