“But, Aunt Lilian, don’t you remember? You always said that people ought to marry young. I remember so well, one time, when we talked about Juliet being only fourteen when she first saw Romeo, that you said….”
“That has nothing to do with it,” said Mrs. Aldwinkle, cutting short her niece’s mnemonic display. Irene’s memory, Mrs. Aldwinkle had often had reason to complain, was really too good.
“But if you said …” Irene began again.
“Romeo and Juliet have nothing to do with you and Hovenden,” retorted Mrs. Aldwinkle. “I repeat: you’re too young.”
“I’m nineteen.”
“Eighteen.”
“Practically nineteen,” Irene insisted. “My birthday’s in December.”
“Marry in haste and repent at leisure,” said Mrs. Aldwinkle, making use of any missive, even a proverb, that came ready to hand. “At the end of six months you’ll come back howling and complaining and asking me to get you out of the mess.”
“But why should I?” asked Irene. “We love one another.”
“They all say that. You don’t know your own minds.”