On his return he announced, with a total change of voice,
that it was all right, and his visitor might run alongside as
soon as he chose. My reader has divined the truth; this nautical
commander, terrible to the foe, was in complete and happy subjugation
to his daughter, our heroine.
As he was taking leave, Dolignan saw his divinity glide into
the drawing-room. He followed her, observed a sweet consciousness
deepen into confusion; she tried to laugh, and cried instead, and
then she smiled again; when he kissed her hand at the door it was
"George" and "Marian" instead of "Captain" this and "Miss" the
other.
A reasonable time after this (for my tale is merciful and skips
formalities and torturing delays) these two were very happy; they
were once more upon the railroad, going to enjoy their honeymoon all
by themselves. Marian Dolignan was dressed just as before--duck-like
and delicious, all bright except her clothes; but George sat beside
her this time instead of opposite, and she drank him in gently from
her long eyelashes.
"Marian," said George, "married people should tell each other all.
Will you ever forgive me if I own to you; no--"
"Yes, yes!"
"Well then, you remember the Box Tunnel?" (This was the first
allusion he had ventured to it.
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