“Lots of places,” said the captain, who was not prepared to answer a question like that offhand; “but wherever I’ve been”—­he held up his hand theatrically—­“the image of my dear lost wife has been always in front of me.”

“I knew you at once, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper fondly, smoothing the hair back from his forehead.  “Have I altered much?”

“Not a bit,” said Crippen, holding her at arm’s length and carefully regarding her.  “You look just the same as the first time I set eyes on you.”

“Where have you been?” wailed Martha Pepper, putting her head on his shoulder.

“When the Dolphin went down from under me, and left me fighting with the waves for life and Martha, I was cast ashore on a desert island,” began Crippen fluently.  “There I remained for nearly three years, when I was rescued by a barque bound for New South Wales.  There I met a man from Poole who told me you were dead.  Having no further interest in the land of my birth, I sailed in Australian waters for many years, and it was only lately that I heard how cruelly I had been deceived, and that my little flower was still blooming.”

The little flower’s head being well down on his shoulder again, the celebrated actor exchanged glances with the worshipping Pepper.

“If you’d only come before, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper.  “Who was he?  What was his name?”

“Smith,” said the cautious captain.

“If you’d only come before, Jem,” said Mrs. Pepper, in a smothered voice, “it would have been better.  Only three months ago I married that object over there.”

The captain attempted a melodramatic start with such success, that, having somewhat underestimated the weight of his fair bride, he nearly lost his balance.

“It can’t be helped, I suppose,” he said reproachfully, “but you might have waited a little longer, Martha.”

“Well, I’m your wife, anyhow,” said Martha, “and I’ll take care I never lose you again.  You shall never go out of my sight again till you die.  Never.”

“Nonsense, my pet,” said the captain, exchanging uneasy glances with the ex-pilot.  “Nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense, Jem,” said the lady, as she drew him on to the sofa and sat with her arms round his neck.  “It may be true, all you’ve told me, and it may not.  For all I know, you may have been married to some other woman; but I’ve got you now, and I intend to keep you.”

“There, there,” said the captain, as soothingly as a strange sinking at the heart would allow him.

“As for that other little man, I only married him because he worried me so,” said Mrs. Pepper tearfully.  “I never loved him, but he used to follow me about and propose.  Was it twelve or thirteen times you proposed to me, Pepper?”

“I forget,” said the ex-pilot shortly.

“But I never loved him,” she continued.  “I never loved you a bit, did I, Pepper?”

“Not a bit,” said Pepper warmly.  “No man could ever have a harder or more unfeeling wife than you was.  I’ll say that for you, willing.”