Mr.
Tombey was nervous and ill at ease; Miss Smithers very much at ease, and
reflecting that her companion's moustachios would very well become a
villain in a novel.
Mr. Tombey looked at the star-spangled sky, on which the Southern Cross
hung low, and he looked at the phosphorescent sea; but from neither did
inspiration come. Inspiration is from within, and not from without. At
last, however, he made a gallant and a desperate effort.
"Miss Smithers," he said in a voice trembling with agitation.
"Yes, Mr. Tombey," answered Augusta, quietly; "what is it?"
"Miss Smithers," he went on--"Miss Augusta, I don't know what you
will think of me, but I must tell you, I can't keep it any longer, I
love you!"
Augusta fairly jumped. Mr. Tombey had been very, even markedly, polite,
and she, not being a fool, had seen that he admired her; but she had
never expected this, and the suddenness with which the shot was fired was
somewhat bewildering.
"Why, Mr. Tombey," she said in a surprised voice, "you have only known me
for a little more than a fortnight."
"I fell in love with you when I had only known you for an hour," he
answered with evident sincerity. "Please listen to me. I know I am not
worthy of you! But I do love you so very dearly, and I would make you a
good husband; indeed I would, I am well off; though, of course that is
nothing; and if you don't like New Zealand, I would give it up and go to
live in England.
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