"Certainly, if you want to. It's nobody's affair but yours and his. You are definitely engaged, aren't you?"
"Of course," said Merrill.
"And there's nothing to prevent you marrying except the possibility of public opinion disapproving?"
"No," said Merrill, "but people are very horrid."
"You mustn't mind people," said Ben. "Surely you know that? If we mind people life isn't worth living. The only thing to consider is your happiness. If you had been happy with Egbert you would not want to marry again so soon, or possibly not at all; but as you weren't happy with him I don't see any reason for you to wait."
"The whole question of time is absurd," said Merrill. "Who is it that fixes the interval? Why should a year be all right and eleven months all wrong? It is ridiculous—with life galloping on in the monstrous way it does."
"Well," said Ben, with a despairing glance at the letters waiting to be attended to, "the remedy is yours. Defy public opinion, and marry next week. Go and be registered; get a special licence; anything. But do it."
"I was wondering," said Merrill, "whether we might not marry now secretly and go abroad, and then come back and announce it. That would kill two birds with one stone: we should be married at once, and all those horrid cats, including darling Alicia, would be silenced."
"You never silence horrid cats," said Ben. "And I'm against anything secret. And I don't suppose Captain Andrews would care about it either."
"I think he would do as I wish," said Merrill, with a confident smile.