“Nothing simpler. Just do as I say.”
She turned her face from the wheel and gazed at him in wonderment. “How? I was on hand. I’m ready—but where’s Lewis?”
“You came here to get married,” insistently repeated Mr. Burrow. “You passed up a trip to Europe and left aunty waiting in Mercerville. I came here to get you married, and passed up a Ninth Ward meeting in Mercerville. That wedding must take place!”
Her eyes gazed out at the road, under brows wrinkled with bewilderment.
Mr. Burrow looked at her a moment in silence, then spoke with great impressiveness.
“A woman owes it to herself to marry the best man obtainable. I am, in my official capacity, the best man. Marry me. I am very much at your service, and it may not be irrelevant to add that I love you.”
The immediate effect of this announcement was that the girl at the wheel threw on the brakes and stopped the car with a jolt which almost sent her suitor carroming through the windshield. Next she turned and sat staring at Mr. Burrow, with an expression of absolute and paralyzed incredulity.
Mr. Burrow felt that he had failed to make himself quite clear. “I concede that it’s a trifle abrupt,” he acknowledged, “but I am essentially a man of action. Some dilatory fools might take a month to discover that without you life is a superfluous by-product.” The Honorable Alexander thought contemptuously of Mr. Copewell. “It is enough for me to see you. Besides, Europe yawns for you, and it’s bad luck to postpone a marriage. Possibly when you know me you’ll like me. If you don’t, I’ll remodel myself according to your specifications.” Phraseology notwithstanding, there was sincerity in Mr. Burrow’s voice.
“It’s very good of you,” said the girl at last, speaking a trifle vaguely. “Your courteous proposal seems to cover every possible point—except one. The one is Lewis Copewell. Really, you know, I didn’t just come here to get married at random!” She started the machine forward again.
“I assure you there’s nothing random about me!” argued the Honorable Alexander with dignity.