III She May Have Had Brothers
“By Jove!” said Brassid, that day, as he watched her conquest of the choppy waves, “you are something nautical! I do believe that your ancestors wore scales!”
“Oh, Brassid! Thank you! Think of having such a crest as that! Eight carp gules! And the nearest I can come to it is the whaler! Brassid, in the sea I almost love you! And when you really begin to ’court’ me and feel that you must propose, do it in the water, to the diapason of the waves, in the sight and hearing of my scaly relatives!”
“Hanged if I do!” said Brassid. “You have got to hear that; but it will be in your own house.”
“In evening dress?”
“Very likely.”
“On your knees?”
“On my knees.”
“Horrid, Brassid!”
“It is your fate.”
“But why, Brassid? Why must it be? Isn’t this lovely enough?” Miss Princeps mourned.
“Because I love you,” said he, stoutly.
“But, Brassid dear, that’s no reason.”
“It is. Every man who loves a woman must propose to her—if for no other reason than to be rejected. Then and then only he will see his finish. And I won’t see mine even then. And, to show you that you like me very much, at least, let me remind you that you quite unconsciously called me ‘dear’ just now.”
“Brassid, my grandfather was a whaler.”
“Well, what on earth has that to do with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You love me—that’s what it means.”
“Oh!”
“Yes!”
“I may have brothers—whom I call dear—and—so—get used to it—”
“Have you?” demanded Brassid, with the ferocity that came and went so quickly.
“No, sir,” she answered obediently.
“Oh, you are the most delicious being on earth!” laughed he. “And I won’t wait till we get to town!”
But Brassid had forgotten to tread, and got a generous mouthful of salt water.
“Brassid,” wailed the lady, “I’m sorry for you; but you are punished for taking advantage of me at a time and in an element when I almost love you.”
“Don’t you dare to pity me! I’m not done with you!” spluttered Brassid. “This is my chance—you said it—in—the—sea.”
“In fun! Only in fun!” she cried. “Can’t you see a joke?”
Before he got his chance she said:
“Brassid, we are far enough. You are tired. Let us go back.”
“I won’t!”
“Why?”
“You are mine out here. I am going to keep you—out here.”
“Would you come and live with me in the Dragon King’s palace beneath the sea, where it is always wet?”
“Yes. Whither thou goest I will go.”
“Brassid, I am going home. You will not be restrained.”
“And I’ll follow you. The only way to get rid of me is to marry me.”
“Then I will never, never marry you, Brassid,” said the Sea-Lady, leaving him that riddle, which he never solved. For it was the last day, and presently it would be the second time that her eyes of blue had said, “Too late!”