At half-past seven that night the iron pier was a varied and animated scene. A band was playing a waltz on the circle at the end; young people were dancing, other young people of both sexes were promenading, lines of yet younger people, chiefly girls in short frocks, but with the wagging heads and sparkling eyes of one type of budding maidenhood, were skipping along arm-in-arm, singing snatches of the words set to the waltz, and beating a half-dancing time with an alternate scrape and stroke of the soles of their shoes upon the wood floor on which they walked. The odor of the brine came up from below and mingled with the whiffs of Mona Bouquet that swept after the young girls as they passed, and with the puffs of tobacco smoke that enveloped the young men as they dawdled on. Sometimes the revolving light of the lightship in the channel could be seen above the flash and flare of the pier lamps, and sometimes the dark water under foot gleamed and glinted between the open timbers of the pier pavement, and sometimes the deep rumble of the sea could be heard over the clash and clang of the pier band.

Lovibond was there, walking to and fro, feeling himself for the first time to be an old fellow among so many younger folks, watching the clock, counting the minutes, and scanning every female form that came alone with the crink-crank-crick through the round stile of the pay-gate.

Not until five minutes to eight did the right one appear, but she made up for the tardiness of her coming by the animation of her spirits.

“I couldn’t get away sooner,” whispered Jenny. “She watched me like a cat. She’ll be out in the grounds by this time. It’s delicious! But is he coming!”

“Trust him,” said Lovibond.

“O, dear, what a meeting it will be!” said Jenny.

“I’d love to be there,” said Lovibond.

“Umph! Would you? Two’s company, three’s none—you’re just as well where you are,” said Jenny.

“Better,” said Lovibond.

The clock struck eight in the tower.

“Eight o’clock,” said Lovibond, “They’ll be flying at each other’s eyes by this time.”

“Eight o’clock, twenty seconds!” said Jenny. “And they’ll be lying in each other’s arms by now.”

“Did she suspect?” said Lovibond.

“Of course she did!” said Jenny. “Did he?”

“Certainly!” said Lovibond.

“O dear, O dear!” said Jenny. “It’s wonderful how far you can fool people when it’s to their interest to be fooled.”

“Wonderful!” said Lovibond.

They had walked to the end of the pier; the band was playing—

“So our little drama is over, eh?” said. Jenny.

“Yes; it’s over,” said Lovibond.

Jenny sighed; Lovibond sighed; they looked at each other and sighed together.

“And these good people have no further use for us,” said Jenny.

“None,” said Lovibond.

“Then I suppose we’ve no further use for each other?” moaned Jenny.

“Eh?” said Lovibond.

“Tut!” said Jenny, and she swung aside.

“There’s only one thing I regret,” said Lovibond, inclining his head toward Jenny’s averted face.

“And pray, what’s that?” said Jenny, without turning about.

“Didn’t I tell you that Capt’n Davy had taken two berths in the Pacific steamer to the west coast?” said Lovibond.

“Well?” said Jenny.

“That’s ninety pounds wasted,” said Lovibond.

“What a pity!” sighed Jenny.

“Isn’t it?” said Lovibond—his left hand was fumbling for her right.

“If she were any other woman, she might be glad to go still,” said Jenny.

“And if he were any other man he would be proud to take her,” said Lovibond.

“Some woman without kith or kin to miss her—” began Jenny.

“Yes, or some man without anybody in the world—” began Lovibond.

“Now, if it had been my case—” said Jenny, wearily.

“Or mine,” said Lovibond, sadly.

Each drew a long breath.

“Do you know, if I disappeared tonight, there’s not a soul—” said Jenny, sorrowfully.

“That’s just my case, too,” interrupted Lovibond.

“Ah!” they said together.

They looked into each other’s eyes with a mournful expression, and sighed again. Also their hands touched as their arms hung by their sides.

“Ninety pounds! Did you say ninety? Two berths?” said Jenny. “What a shocking waste! Couldn’t somebody else use them?”

“Just what I was thinking,” said Lovibond; and he linked the lady’s arm through his own.

“Hadn’t you better get the tickets from Capt’n Davy, and—and give them to somebody before it is too late?” said Jenny.

“I’ve got them already—his boy Quarrie was keeping them,” said Lovibond.

“How thoughtful of you, Jona—I mean, Mr. Lovi—”

“Je—Jen—”

“Ben-my-chree! Sweet Ben-my-chree, I love but thee—”

“O, Jonathan!” whispered Jenny.

“O, Jenny!” gasped Jonathan.

They were on the dark side of the round house; the band was playing behind them, the sea was rumbling in front; there was a shuffle of feet, a sudden rustle of a dress; the lady glanced to the right, the gentleman looked to the left, and then for a fraction of an instant they were locked in each other’s arms.

“Will you go back with me, Jenny?”

“Well,” whispered Jenny. “Just to keep the tickets from wasting—”

“Just that,” whispered Lovibond.

Three quarters of an hour later they were sailing out of Douglas harbor on board the Irish packet that was to overtake the Pacific steamship next morning at Belfast. The lights of Castle Mona lay low on the water’s edge, and from the iron pier as they passed came the faint sound of the music of the band: