Miss Tipping, who was sitting next to the skipper, looked at him languishingly, and put her head on his shoulder.
“I can hardly believe it,” she said, coyly.
Flower, who was in the same predicament, patted her head tenderly, as being easier than replying.
“And I must say,” said Mrs. Tipping, regarding the pair, “I’m a plain woman, and I speak my mind, that if it was me, I should want to know more about him first.”
“I’m quite satisfied, mar,” said Miss Tipping, without raising her head.
“There’s your relations to be satisfied, Matilda,” said Uncle Porson, in an important voice.
Miss Tipping raised her head and favoured the interrupter with a baleful stare, whereupon Mr. Porson, scratching his neck feebly, glanced at Mrs. Tipping for support.
“Our relations needn’t come to see us,” said his niece, at length. “He’s marrying me, not my relations.”
“He’s making me his uncle, at any rate,” said Mr. Porson, with a sudden access of dignity.
“You don’t mind, Fred, do you?” asked Miss Tipping, anxiously.