“Nobody knows much about Crowdie’s antecedents, anyway. I never could understand the match.”
“Oh—it’s easily understood. They fell in love with each other. Of course he would have been delighted to marry her, if he hadn’t cared a straw for her, for the sake of the social position and all that. Then he had a sister—at least, people said so, but nobody ever saw her that I know of—somewhere in New Jersey. She didn’t come to the wedding, I know, for I was Hester’s bridesmaid. Charlotte and I were the only two.”
“She didn’t come to the wedding because she was dead,” said Ralston. “That’s an awfully good reason.”
“I didn’t know. I’ve often wondered about her, but I didn’t like to ask questions. One doesn’t you know, about people who don’t turn up. They always are dead, or something—and then one feels so uncomfortable.”
“Yes,” answered Ralston, as though meditating on the fact. “At all events,” he continued, “nobody ever knew much about Crowdie, nor where he came from. So I don’t exactly see how Griggs could be responsible for him. But, as you say, there’s a mystery about it all—so there is about Griggs, for that matter.”
“Oh, no! Mr. Griggs is all right. There’s nothing mysterious about him. He was born abroad, that’s all, and I believe he was awfully poor as a boy—a sort of orphan lying about loose on the world, you know. But he’s got a lot of tremendously proper relations in Rhode Island. He goes to see some of them now and then. He’s told me.”
“Well—it’s very queer about Crowdie, anyhow,” said Ralston, thoughtfully. “But there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, dear,” he continued after a little pause. “It’s about our marriage certificate. You know we’re living in danger of an explosion at any moment. That thing is tucked away somewhere amongst poor uncle Robert’s papers. We’ve spoken of it once or twice, you know. They’re going through everything, and sooner or later it’s sure to turn up. It’s just as well to be prepared beforehand. I don’t know what will happen if we tell your father now, but he’s got to be told, and it’s my place to do it.”
“No, Jack,” answered Katharine. “It’s my place. I made you do it—I’ve never made up my mind whether it was the wisest thing we could do, or whether it was a piece of egregious folly. Suppose that we had quarrelled after it was done. We should have been bound all our lives by a mere ceremony.”
“But we knew we shouldn’t,” protested Ralston.
“Nobody knows anything,” said Katharine, wisely. “We know now, because we know each other so much better. But I made you take a tremendous risk, and you didn’t want to do it at all—”