For aught I care she can be as inconsolable
as Calypso. It will do her good. She can write a little story
about it in _The Sirens' Magazine_.
I am shocked. For all her bouncing ways and animal health and
incorrect information, I thought Dora was a nice-minded girl.
Do nice-minded girls hunt husbands?
Good heavens! This looks like the subject of a silly-season
correspondence in _The Daily Telegraph_.
CHAPTER XI
July 19th.
_Campsie, N.B._ Hither have I fled from my buccaneering
relations. I am seeking shelter in a manse in the midst of a
Scotch moor, and the village, half a mile away, is itself five
miles from a railway station. Here I can defy Aunt Jessica.
After my conversation with Pasquale, I passed a restless night.
My slumbers were haunted by dreams of pirate yachts flying the
jolly Roger, on which the skull and crossbones melted grotesquely
into a wedding-ring and a true lovers' knot. I awoke to the
conviction that so long as the vessel remained on English waters
I could find no security in London.
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