“No; but you spoke of being tired of a bachelor life, and wishing to change.”

“Ah! you women,” said the captain, shaking his head—­“always suspecting that we poor men are wantin’ to marry you.  Well, pr’aps you ain’t far wrong neither; but I’m not goin’ to be spliced yet-a-while, lass.  Marry, indeed!

          ‘Shall I, wastin’ in despair,
          Die, ‘cause why? a woman’s rare?’”

“Oh!  Captain Ogilvy, that’s not rightly quoted,” cried Minnie, with a merry laugh.

“Ain’t it?” said the captain, somewhat put out; for he did not like to have his powers of memory doubted.

“No; surely women are not rare,” said Minnie.

“Good ones are,” said the captain stoutly.

“Well; but that’s not the right word.”

“What is the right word, then?” asked the captain with affected sternness, for, although by nature disinclined to admit that he could be wrong, he had no objection to be put right by Minnie.

“Die because a woman’s f——­,” said Minnie, prompting him.

“F——­, ‘funny?’” guessed the captain.

“No; it’s not ’funny’,” cried Minnie, laughing heartily.

“Of course not,” assented the captain, “it could not be ‘funny’ nohow, because ‘funny’ don’t rhyme with ‘despair’; besides, lots o’ women ain’t funny a bit, an’ if they was, that’s no reason why a man should die for ’em; what is the word, lass?”

“What am I?” asked Minnie, with an arch smile, as she passed her fingers through the clustering masses of her beautiful hair.

“An angel, beyond all doubt,” said the gallant captain, with a burst of sincerity which caused Minnie to blush and then to laugh.

“You’re incorrigible, captain, and you are so stupid that it’s of no use trying to teach you.”

Mrs. Brand—­who listened to this conversation with an expression of deep anxiety on her meek face, for she could not get rid of her first idea that her brother was going to marry—­here broke in with the question,—­

“When is it to be, brother?”

“When is what to be, sister?”

“The—­the marriage.”

“I tell you I ain’t a-goin’ to marry,” repeated the captain; “though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, shouldn’t marry, is more than I can see.  You know the old proverbs, lass—­’It’s never too late to marry’; ‘Never ventur’, never give in’; ‘John Anderson my jo John, when we was first—­first——­’”

“Married,” suggested Minnie.

“Just so,” responded the captain, “and everybody knows that he was an old man.  But no, I’m not goin’ to marry; I’m only goin’ to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with you.”

“Live with me!” ejaculated Mrs. Brand.