The naïve wonder and triumph of her cry, the challenge in her brown eyes, to my belief, were moving things. I registered some ugly mental comments on the rearing of Phil and the kind of humility that is not good for the soul.
"Why not?" I demanded. "Of course!"
She shook her head.
"No. Thank you, but—no! Not pretty, except to him. Only to him, because he loves me."
I do not know what impatience I exclaimed. She checked me, leaning across the table to grasp my hand in both hers.
"Hush! Oh, hush, dear Cousin Roger! For it is quite too late. We were married six months ago; last autumn."
When I could, I asked:
"Married legally, beyond mistake? Were you not under eighteen years old?"
"I was eighteen years and a half. There is no mistake at all. We walked over to the city hall in the nearest town, and took out our license, and were married."
"Very well. I will take you home to your father and mother, now; then see this man, myself. If there is indeed no flaw in the marriage and it cannot be annulled, a divorce must be arranged. Any money I have or expect to have would be a small price to set you free from the miserable business. But the first thing is to get you home. We will start now."