Clive turned to her. “You aren’t afraid the Tribe will get you at last?” he asked. “That would be too bad.”
She flushed, as at a compliment. “This marriage will be one final defiance and farewell to the particular tribe to which I belong,” she said. “No, I—I guess I’m not afraid. What do you think, Felix?”
“Bring on the Tribal Ceremony!” said Felix.
“Well,” said Clive, “I’ve done my duty.... And now I’ll see about getting you married.”
Felix sighed with relief, and reflected that it was about time Clive began to take the occasion seriously.
“I suppose,” said Clive, “that it hasn’t occurred to you that this is Saturday afternoon, and the county clark’s office is closed. And you can’t be married without a license.”
Felix looked his chagrin. Of course, he would have forgotten something essential! He glanced sheepishly at Rose-Ann, who seemed merely amused. But why must he be, always, and even in his getting married, a moon-calf?
“However,” said Clive, suddenly transformed into the efficient and practical personage that Felix had so often admired, “I think it can be fixed up! I’ll telephone my friend Judge Peabody. And—” he paused for a moment and frowned—“we’ll need another witness. I’ll fix that up, too.”
“I’m sorry I forgot about the license,” said Felix as Clive briskly left the room.
“It’s all right,” she said. “I forgot, too. It makes no difference.”