“But what did you get engaged to her for?” enquired Fraser.
Flower shook his head. “She fell violently in love with me,” he said, mournfully. “She keeps the Blue Posts up at Chelsea. Her father left it to her. She manages her step-mother and her brother and everybody else. I was just a child in her hands. You know my easy-going nature.”
“But you made love to her,” expostulated the mate.
“In a way, I suppose I did,” admitted the other. “I don’t know now whether she could have me up for breach of promise, because when I asked her I did it this way. I said, ‘Will you be Mrs. Robinson?’ What do you think?”
“I should think it would make it harder for you,” said Fraser. “But didn’t you remember Miss Banks while all this was going on?”
“In a way,” said Flower, “yes—in a way. But after a man’s been engaged to a woman nine years, it’s very easy to forget, and every year makes it easier. Besides, I was only a boy when I was engaged to her.”
“Twenty-eight,” said Fraser.
“Anyway, I wasn’t old enough to know my own mind,” said Flower, “and my uncle and old Mrs. Banks made it up between them. They arranged everything, and I can’t afford to offend the old man. If I married Miss Tipping—that’s the Blue Posts girl—he’d leave his money away from me; and if I marry Elizabeth, Miss Tipping’ll have me up for breach of promise—if she finds me.”
“If you’re not very careful,” said Fraser, impressively, “you’ll lose both of ’em.”
The skipper leaned over the table, and glanced carefully round. “Just what I want to do,” he said, in a low voice. “I’m engaged to another girl.”