“If you’d only come before, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper, in a smothered voice, “it would have been better. Only three months ago I married that object over there.”
The captain attempted a melodramatic start with such success, that, having somewhat underestimated the weight of his fair bride, he nearly lost his balance.
“It can’t be helped, I suppose,” he said reproachfully, “but you might have waited a little longer, Martha.”
“Well, I’m your wife, anyhow,” said Martha, “and I’ll take care I never lose you again. You shall never go out of my sight again till you die. Never.”
“Nonsense, my pet,” said the captain, exchanging uneasy glances with the ex-pilot. “Nonsense.”
“It isn’t nonsense, Jem,” said the lady, as she drew him on to the sofa and sat with her arms round his neck. “It may be true, all you’ve told me, and it may not. For all I know, you may have been married to some other woman; but I’ve got you now, and I intend to keep you.”
“There, there,” said the captain, as soothingly as a strange sinking at the heart would allow him.
“As for that other little man, I only married him because he worried me so,” said Mrs. Pepper tearfully. “I never loved him, but he used to follow me about and propose. Was it twelve or thirteen times you proposed to me, Pepper?”
“I forget,” said the ex-pilot shortly.
“But I never loved him,” she continued. “I never loved you a bit, did I, Pepper?”