“But there was a li—license! and a ring—ring! and an ordain—dained minister! and even a man—man to give me away! and all was reg—reg—reg—regular!” answered Elfie, scarcely able to articulate through her gasping sobs.
“Nonsense, my dear girl! The vital, valid, lawful part of the affair, without which all the rest was all invalid, null and void, was wanting,” laughed Justin.
“And what was that—at?” sobbed Elfie.
“The consent of the woman, of course!”
“Oh, but they had that!”
“Elfie!”
“They took it by force, as they took me. That man—an—who acted as my pap—pap—papa, took me by my neck and hair and bobbed my head down three or four times in the most positive manner, as if he meant me to say, ‘Yes, yes, YES!’ and the ceremony went on.”
“The villain! But, Elfie, my dear, that was no consent. Nonsense, my child! You are no more bound in law or gospel to your guerrilla abductor than you are to any other savage you can think of. Give yourself no uneasiness on that subject, Miss Fielding,” said Justin, with an intentional emphasis on Elfie’s maiden name.
Apparently Elfie was not grateful for the consideration.
“Justin Rosenthal, I’ll thank you not to call me ‘Miss Fielding!’ How do I know but what I am Mrs. Goldsborough? I hate to be placed in unequivocal position; and I won’t be neither, there! Call me Elfie. The name given me in baptism is the only one either you or I can feel dead sure I am entitled to bear!” exclaimed the girl, passionately.