"Do not mind being looked at. Everybody is very kind, Grace; so sweet as you are, too—who can help looking at you? Despite your embarrassment, let me tell you that I am very well pleased with what has happened," and I repeated to her what had been passing in my mind.
But she was too nervous, perhaps too young to understand. She had left her gloves in the yacht, her hands were bare, and her fine eyes rested on the wedding ring upon her finger.
"Must I go on wearing this, Herbert?"
"Oh, yes, my own—certainly, whilst you are here. What would Captain Parsons say?—what would everybody think if you removed it?"
"But I am not your wife!" she exclaimed with a pout, softly beating the deck with her foot, "and this ring is unreal—it signifies nothing—"
I interrupted her. "I am not so sure that you are not my wife," said I. She shot a look at me out of her eyes, which were large with alarm and confusion. "At all events, I believe I am your husband, and surely, my precious, you must hope that I am. But whether or not, pray go on wearing that ring. You can pull it off when we get to Penzance, and I will slip it on again when we stand before my cousin."
"It has been a dreadful adventure," said she.
"More memorable than dreadful," I answered, putting her hand under my arm and stepping with her over to where the second mate was standing—the young fellow who had brought us aboard out of the yacht. He touched his cap very civilly, whilst the skin of his face shrunk into a thousand wrinkles to the grin he put on.
"Surely something will be coming into view soon?" said I.
"Oh, I think so, sir," he answered.