“I don’t like to tell you,” said Chrissie, folding her hands in her lap. “I know you’ll be cross. You’re so unreasonable.”
The captain stared—frightfully.
“I’m going to be married,” said Chrissie suddenly,—“there! To Jack Metcalfe—there! So you’ll have to learn to love him. He’s going to try and love you for my sake.” To his sister’s dismay the captain got up, and brandishing his fists walked violently to and fro. By these simple but unusual means decorum was preserved.
“If you were only a boy,” said the captain, when he had regained his seat, “I should know what to do with you.”
“If I were a boy,” said Chrissie, who, having braced herself up for the fray, meant to go through with it, “I shouldn’t want to marry Jack. Don’t be silly, father!”
“Jane,” said the captain, in a voice which made the lady addressed start in her chair, “what do you mean by it?”
“It isn’t my fault,” said Miss Polson feebly. “I told her how it would be. And it was so gradual; he admired my geraniums at first, and, of course, I was deceived. There are so many people admire my geraniums; whether it is because the window has a south aspect”—
“Oh!” said the captain rudely, “that’ll do, Jane. If he wasn’t a lawyer, I’d go round and break his neck. Chrissie is only nineteen, and she’ll come for a year’s cruise with me. Perhaps the sea air’ll strengthen her head. We’ll see who’s master in this family.”
“I’m sure I don’t want to be master,” said his daughter, taking a weapon of fine cambric out of her pocket, and getting ready for action. “I can’t help liking people. Auntie likes him too, don’t you, auntie?”
“Yes,” said Miss Polson bravely.