VI Her Ancestors Wore Scales
“For immediate evidence of my pusillanimity,” laughed Brassid, “let us return. We have never been half so far as this. And while you are a mermaiden, I am only a walrus.”
“Must we go back?”
“No,” laughed Brassid.
“Then let us go on and on and on forever! Brassid, I am mad to-day. That about the Indian-fighter did it. And if you knew how close—close—you are—why—come! Out there where it sparkles! It fascinates—calls to me. Oh, dear Brassid, perhaps my ancestors did wear scales! Come! Out there ask for—anything!”
She gave him, there in the water, his first caress—only a touch, after all.
Brassid’s tongue was loosed. He talked on almost in strophes.
And she answered presently:
“Brassid dear, that sounds like the big love. I wouldn’t have any other—if I had to have it at all. I wish I did love you. Oh, not so much for your sake as mine! I begin to feel, to see, to hear, what it is. Brassid, some day I shall demand it.”
“And you shall have it.”
“But not—now—Brassid dear! Not—to-day! Please!”
“Look here,” said he, in his ferocity, “you do love me—and you are going to marry me!”
“No, no, no! Brassid, really, I don’t love you. Not a bit—yet. It is courage—courage. But out here—to-day—Brassid, I like you—courage or no courage, I’ll confess that much—I like you a lot.” Then, presently, “Brassid, do you really think I love you?”
He nodded.
“Why don’t you speak? It is very impolite to nod a reply to such an important—question. I can’t—marry—you—away—out—here.”
They faced each other, and knew that they were out of breath.
“Out there is a bar. I have been watching it. We can rest there.”
But Brassid did not touch her to help.
Presently they reached it. Neither could have gone twenty yards further. Brassid turned and looked shoreward. Something suddenly gripped his heart. The Crazy-Quilt House was a distant blur against the horizon. There were people on the beach, but they were as ants. He kept her face seaward. A ship, hull down, was sailing from them.
“And presently, when we are quite rested, we shall go home.”
“I suppose so,” she said petulantly. “But, oh, it has been so lovely to-day!”
“But I am hungry.”
“Yes. Come.”
Once more he kept her eyes seaward by pointing out that the ship was coming about.
“Brassid,” she laughed, “to-morrow we shall go out to that ship!”
“Yes,” he smiled.
She had come very close to him. She was dancing on her toes upon the bar. The tide was running in rapidly. The sun was overhead in all its September glory. She held by his arms and danced. Her hair was confined under a pale-green scarf, save where it escaped. Below in the green water he could see her loveliness foreshortened.
“Brassid, you are staring at me. Do you see the scales?
“Why are you so quiet—now?
“Brassid, I can touch bottom no longer. See! I must be in your arms! That is my only excuse—I am tired. Aha!”
She laughed gloriously.
“Brassid—dear—good—luck—to—you!” she whispered.
He kissed her.
“Brassid, what does that mean?”
“That you are engaged to me—”
“Brassid, I don’t mind being engaged—that much—out here—”
He kissed her again.
“Yes,” she said. “But remember that I do not love you, and that I shall never marry you. It will be quite different when we land. I heard the snuff lady say that we must be engaged, or it would be very improper to be so much alone—out—here. So now you may tell her that—we—are engaged—that everything is proper—and you needn’t say that it is only a little.”
She stopped to laugh again.
“Oh, Brassid, it is glorious! And you are lovely. And I have everything I want now—since we are engaged a little. And if I ever marry any one it will be some one just like you, who can swim, and has the big love—and courage. But I won’t love you, Brassid, I won’t. You should not expect that.”
“No,” laughed happy Brassid.
“Kiss me!” she commanded. “And laugh!”
Brassid did both.