"We can keep him safe. He is going to be rolled in your 'possum rug. We
can take him inside if it is cold. Oh, we MUST go by sea, Guthrie!"

"Call this sea?" he mocked.

It was sea to her, who had never been beyond the Heads. She expected to
concentrate in the fifteen-minutes' trip across the bay the interest of
years of travel on land. There was nothing like blue water to this
sailor's wife, whose heart had been upon it for so many anxious months;
the extravagance of her partiality was the joke of husband and friends
against her.

"All right," said Guthrie; "come along, then!"

He was impatient to get her away from these people, and under his own
roof.

The second-hand macintosh was again pressed upon her.

"Oh, thanks--thanks! But I think I won't put it on just yet, as it is
not raining. My dress is warm."

Her dress was the wedding dress--chosen for use as well as beauty--a
delicate pink stuff, with a watered sash to match, in which she looked
like a school-girl on breaking-up day. She had a fancy to go to her
home in state, and also to make an appearance that would do her husband
credit before Mr and Mrs Hardacre.

"Here is your fascinator, my dear," said the motherly landlady,