"Seventeen shillings and sixpence," said the jeweller, almost as quickly.
"I like it better than the other," said Rosa.
"It is better," said the boatswain, in a relieved voice.
He counted out the money and, turning a deaf but blushing ear to the jeweller's glowing description of his wedding-rings, led the way outside. Rosa took his arm and leaned on it heavily.
"Fancy! We are engaged now," she said, squeezing his arm and looking up at him.
Mr. Walters, who seemed to be in a state of considerable perturbation, made no reply.
"Fancy you being in such a hurry!" continued Rosa, with another squeeze.
"It's a failing of mine," said the boatswain, still staring straight before him. "Always was."
[CHAPTER XVI]
JOAN HARTLEY'S ideas of London, gathered from books and illustrated papers, were those of a town to which her uncle and aunt were utter strangers. Mr. William Carr knew Cornhill and the adjacent district thoroughly, and thirty or forty years before had made periodical descents upon the West-end. He left home at half-past eight every morning and returned every evening at five minutes to six, except on Saturdays, when he returned at ten minutes past three, and spent his half holiday in the dining-room reading an early edition of the evening paper. Any paragraphs relating to Royalty were read aloud to his wife, who knew not only all the members of the English Royal Family by name, but also those dignitaries abroad who had the happiness to be connected with it in marriage. She could in all probability have given the King himself much useful information as to the ages and fourth and fifth Christian names of some of the later and more remote members of his family.