“That’s the trouble. I hardly know myself. Of course there’s nothing absolutely wrong in a secret marriage. No marriage is wrong, exactly, if the people are free.”
“That’s the main thing I wanted to know,” said Katharine, quietly.
“Yes—but there are other things. Men don’t think it exactly honourable to persuade a girl to be married secretly, against the wishes of her people. A great many men would, but don’t. It’s somehow not quite fair to the girl. Running away is all fair and square, if people are ready to face the consequences. Perhaps it is that there are consequences to face—that makes it a sort of pitched battle, and the parents generally give in at the end, because there’s no other way out of it. But a secret marriage—well, it doesn’t exactly have consequences, in the ordinary way. The girl goes on living at home as though she were not married, deceiving everybody all round—and so must the man. In fact it’s a kind of lie, and I don’t like it.”
Ralston paused after this long speech, and was evidently deep in thought.
“All you say is true enough—in a sense,” Katharine answered. “But when it’s the only way to get married at all, the case is different. Don’t you think so yourself? Wouldn’t you rather be secretly married than go on like this—as this may go on, for ten, fifteen, twenty years—all our lives?”
“Of course I would. But I don’t see why—”
“I do, and I want to make you see. Listen to my little speech, please. First, we are both of age—I am so far as being married is concerned, and we have an absolute right to do as we please about it—to be married in the teeth of the lions, if that’s not a false metaphor—or something—you know.”
“In the jaws of hell, for that matter,” said Ralston, fervently.
“Thank you for saying it. I’m only a girl and mustn’t use strong language. Very well, we have a perfect right to do as we please. That’s a great point. Then we have only to choose, and it becomes a matter of judgment.”
“You talk like print,” laughed Ralston.