“Not a word, nor must they know. May left a letter for her father to tell him she was leaving because she could not get on with her stepmother, and this is enough explanation for her to give. The rest is between ourselves. I mean to marry May at once, and take her abroad for a short time, and then, Miss Webster, I have a proposition to make to you, to which I most earnestly hope you will agree. I can not acknowledge my marriage to May for the present, and she is too young to live alone. So will you allow her to remain an inmate of your house? Of course, she shall have a handsome income, and I know she is fond of both you and Miss Eliza, and my mind would be at rest regarding her if I knew she was under your kindly care.”
Miss Webster had given a sort of gasping sigh more than once during this long speech of John’s. In fact, it nearly took her breath away. A secret marriage! The bride to be left with them! No wonder gentle Miss Webster’s soft gray hair nearly rose on end at the idea. It was so completely against her ideas of propriety and against dear Eliza’s also. Miss Webster, in fact, did not know what to say; she fidgeted in her chair; her thin fingers moved nervously; her whole appearance denoted her mental distress.
“I know all this must be a little startling to you,” continued John Temple, “but just consider the circumstances, and how the poor girl was actually compelled to fly from home to escape a hateful marriage that was being forced on her! We—May and I—love each other very dearly, and she is content to accept this sacrifice for my sake, and she shall never regret it. My whole future life shall be devoted to her; and at all events, Miss Webster, even if you won’t help us, I am sure our secret will be quite safe with you?”
“Your secret will be quite safe,” replied Miss Webster, still rather stiffly. She was thinking she was a clergyman’s daughter, and wondering what would be her duty under such extraordinary circumstances. And then suddenly the remembrance of Ralph Webster flashed across her mind, and her faded cheeks colored.
“I—I think this arrangement would hardly be suitable, Mr. Temple,” she said, with hesitation and downcast eyes. “You see, our nephew, Mr. Ralph Webster, almost lives with us, and—and of course, though May—I beg your pardon, the future Mrs. John Temple—is a dear sweet girl, and both of us, my sister Eliza and myself, are, if you will excuse me saying so, very fond of her. Still, though Ralph has rooms in the Temple, he looks on this as his home; and, indeed, it ought to be, as he is our poor dear brother’s only child, but still, as he is a young man—”
John Temple laughed softly as Miss Webster concluded her confused protest against his proposal that May should live with them.
“I shall not be jealous,” he said; “your nephew, I presume, is only a very young man?”
“Oh, dear, no! Our poor dear brother was very much older than we are, you know. Ralph is past thirty.”
“Past thirty?” replied John Temple, thoughtfully. “Still,” he added, and he smiled as he spoke, “I should not be afraid of May.”
“It is not of May—” began Miss Webster, and then she paused, painfully confused.