Lavinia dropped her embroidery frames into her lap and looked up at him. The question in her eyes was almost born of fear.
“Right away?” exclaimed Lavinia.
“Well, almost right away,” Marley answered. “Sometime this winter, anyway.”
“This winter! So soon?”
“So soon!” Marley repeated her words, almost in mockery.
“But we mustn’t be married in the winter,” she said, “we’ve always planned to be married in June—our month, you know.”
“What’s the use of waiting?”
“But papa and mama—”
This quick rushing to the parental cover, this clinging to the habit of years struck a jealousy through Marley’s heart. His face fell and he looked hurt.
“Can’t we, dear?” he pleaded.