Kit. Hey? Steady, lass: steady, I say. For goodness’ sake, ease it off.
Arethusa. I will, Kit—I will. But you came so sudden.
Kit. I thought ten months of it about preparation enough.
Arethusa. Ten months and a week: you haven’t counted the days as I have. Another day gone, and one day nearer to Kit: that has been my almanac. How brown you are! how handsome!
Kit. A pity you can’t see yourself! Well, no, I’ll never be handsome: brown I may be, never handsome. But I’m better than that, if the proverb’s true; for I’m ten hundred thousand fathoms deep in love. I bring you a faithful sailor. What! you don’t think much of that for a curiosity? Well, that’s so: you’re right; the rarity is in the girl that’s worth it ten times over. Faithful? I couldn’t help it if I tried! No, sweetheart, and I fear nothing: I don’t know what fear is, but just of losing you. (Starting.) Lord, that’s not the Admiral?
Arethusa. Aha, Mr. Dreadnought! you see you fear my father.
Kit. That I do. But, thank goodness, it’s nobody. Kiss me: no, I won’t kiss you: kiss me. I’ll give you a present for that. See!
Arethusa. A wedding-ring!
Kit. My mother’s. Will you take it?
Arethusa. Yes, will I—and give myself for it.