“Yes, I do _so_ wish they were our babies—God love them! they are so sweet,” said Rosalia, raising her large eyes to his and looking him straight through the head, with her vague azure gaze! Up sprang Gusty stamping and dancing about the floor and swearing—no, exclaiming, “You are a baby yourself! a _snow_ baby you are! or, a fool! or both! why don’t you get mad? why don’t you box my ears? will _nothing_ arouse you? do you know I have been saying something very impudent to you?” “Have you?” “Oh! you go to Guinea! ‘_have you_.’ Yes, I have! _You_ don’t love me, Rose—no, not a bit!” “Yes, I do, Gusty; don’t wake the babies!” “YOU DON’T,” thundered Gusty, “and I wouldn’t have you to save your life.” Then he came and fell into a chair, and looking at her wrathfully, said, “See here, Rose; I won’t have you! I’ll court the first pretty girl I come across. Why don’t you answer me? what do you say to that? I say I’ll court the first pretty girl I come across!” “Will you?” said Rose, vaguely. “Yes, I will! and I’ll _marry_ her!” “Will you?” “_Yes_, I will; and I know several pretty girls—you need not think I don’t! sweet girls! that would give their eyes for me! And one lives at Havana, and one at Rio, and one at Genoa, and one at Havre, and one at Marseilles, and one at Mahon, and one at Gibraltar, and one at Constantinople, besides several others! Come! Now! What do you think of that?” “It is very natural they should all love you, Gusty, I am sure.” “Humph! is it? Well, I am going to court and marry one of them before I come home! What do you think of _that_?” “I think that will be very nice.” “And you’ll have no objection?” “Why no, dear Gusty, how should I?” “And you’d be very well contented?” “Yes, dear Gusty, if you were happy; I should be _so_ contented; and if you would move over to this country and come to see us very often—for, Gusty, I should weep if you should go away to live for ever!” Up jumped Gusty again— “Oh! my God! this—this—this—_creature_ will be the death of me!” then suddenly he dropped down upon the carpet by her side, dropped his face in her lap, spread up his arms over her shoulders, and sobbed, “oh! Rosalia—darling rose! I would not marry a _princess_ while you remained on earth! my pure angel! Oh, Rose, love me! love me! _please_ love me!” “I _do_ love you, Gusty—as hard as ever I can!” “You don’t—_don’t_—DON’T! you little fool, you don’t love me a bit better than you love old Cumbo!” “Poor old Cumbo!” “Ah, ha! there it is; you say that in the same key with which you would say ‘Poor young Gusty!’ if a cannon ball should carry off my head next month! Love me! no, that you don’t! Oh, Lord! oh, dear!” groaned Gusty, getting up and sinking into a chair, “oh, Lord! oh, dear!” “Are you sick, Gusty?” “Yes, I am!” “Whereabouts, dear Gusty? shall I get you anything?” “Sick at heart.” “Oh, the heart-burn!”