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."
As he bore this testimony to his wife's fidelity there was a knock at
the door, and, upon his opening it, the rector's daughter, a lady of
uncertain age, entered, and stood regarding with amazement the frantic
but ineffectual struggles of Captain Crippen to release himself from a
position as uncomfortable as it was ridiculous.
"Mrs. Pepper!" said the lady, aghast. "Oh, Mrs. Pepper!"
"It's all right, Miss Winthrop," said the lady addressed, calmly, as she
forced the captain's flushed face on to her ample shoulder again; "it's
my first husband, Jem Budd."
"Good gracious!" said Miss Winthrop, starting. "Enoch Arden in the
flesh!"
"Who?" inquired Pepper, with a show of polite interest.
"Enoch Arden," said Miss Winthrop. "One of our great poets wrote a noble
poem about a sailor who came home and found that his wife had married
again; but, in the POEM, the first husband went away without making
himself known, and died of a broken heart.
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