CHAPTER XXII
IN WHICH THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO AN ANCIENT FINGER-POST
"Why, Cleone!" exclaimed the Captain, and folded his solitary arm
about her; but not content with this, my lady must needs take his
empty sleeve also, and, drawing it close about her neck, she held it
there.
"Oh, Cleone!" sighed the Captain, "my dear, dear lass!"
"No," she cried, "I'm a heartless savage, an ungrateful wretch! I am,
I am--and I hate myself!" and here, forthwith, she stamped her foot
at herself.
"No, no, you're not--I say no! You didn't mean to break my heart.
You've come back to me, thank God, and--and--Oh, egad, Cleone, I
swear--I say I swear--by Gog and Magog, I'm snuffling like a
birched schoolboy; but then I--couldn't bear to--lose my dear maid."
"Dear," she sighed, brushing away his tears with the cuff of his
empty sleeve, "dear, if you'd only try to hate me a little--just a
little, now and then, I don't think I should be quite such a wretch
to you." Here she stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the chin, that
being nearest. "I'm a cat--yes, a spiteful cat, and I must scratch
sometimes; but ah! if you knew how I hated myself after! And I know
you'll go and forgive me again, and that's what makes it so hard to
bear.
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