“Miss Grayson included,” he returned, with a slight bow, and a smile, in which, perhaps, irony was concealed by playfulness.  “After the risk you have so lately run, even I, confirmed and obstinate sea-monster as I am, have no reason to complain of your distaste for our element.  And yet, you see, it is not entirely without its charms.  No lake, that lies within the limits of yon Continent, can be more calm and sweet than is this bit of ocean.  Were we a few degrees more southward, I would show you landscapes of rock and mountain—­of bays, and hillsides sprinkled with verdure—­of tumbling whales, and lazy fishermen, and distant cottages, and lagging sails—­such as would make a figure even in pages that the bright eye of lady might love to read.”

“And yet for most of this would you be indebted to the land.  In return for your picture, I would take you north, and show you black and threatening clouds—­a green and angry sea—­shipwrecks and shoals—­cottages, hillsides, and mountains, in the imagination only of the drowning man—­and sails bleached by waters that contain the voracious shark, or the disgusting polypus.”

Gertrude had answered in his own vein; but it was too evident, by her pale cheek, and a slight tremour about her full, rich lip, that memory was also busy with its frightful images.  The quick-searching eye of the Rover was not slow to detect the change.  As though he would banish every recollection that might give her pain, he artfully, but delicately, gave a new direction to the discourse.

“There are people who think the sea has no amusements,” he said.  “To a pining, home-sick, sea-sick miserable, this may well be true; but the man who has spirit enough to keep down the qualms of the animal may tell a different tale.  We have our balls regularly, for instance; and there are artists on board this ship, who, though they cannot, perhaps, make as accurate a right angle with their legs as the first dancer of a leaping ballet, can go through their figures in a gale of wind; which is more than can be said of the highest jumper of them all on shore.”

“A ball, without females, would, at least, be thought an unsocial amusement, with us uninstructed people of terra firma.”

“Hum!  It might be better for a lady or two Then, have we our theatre:  Farce, comedy, and the buskin, take their turns to help along the time.  You fellow, that you see lying on the fore-topsail-yard like an indolent serpent basking on the branch of a tree, will ’roar you as gently as any sucking dove!’ And here is a votary of Momus, who would raise a smile on the lips of a sea-sick friar:  I believe I can say no more in his commendation.”

“All this is well in the description,” returned Mrs Wyllys; “but something is due to the merit of the—­poet, or, painter shall I term you?”

“Neither, but a grave and veritable chronologer.  However, since you doubt, and since you are so new to the ocean”—­