“Hark to the defiant bridegroom!” said Clive. “He wishes us to understand that his wife is going to love, honour, and obey him, in the good old—fashioned way. He won’t stand for any of this new-fangled nonsense. The Cave-man emerges!”
Felix flushed. He had only succeeded in making a fool of himself, it seemed.
Rose-Ann spoke up. “I hope it will be modern,” she said. “I’m sure it won’t be like any of the marriages I’ve seen back in my home town.... Why are you so afraid of freedom and modernity, Felix?”
Perhaps it was that word afraid, which Rose-Ann used so lightly, that stung him. “Because,” he said, “I am apparently the only one here who knows what those words mean.”
He had not intended to say it—certainly he had not intended to say it in that tone of voice. It came out, raspingly, like a voice out of a music-box, a voice from a strange record that has been put in unawares. His voice was, even to his own ears, remote and metallic.
Rose-Ann looked at him, startled. “What words, Felix?” she asked gently.
“The words you have all been bandying about,” he replied. “Modernity. Freedom.” His voice was still hard.
“Well, what do they mean?”
She leaned toward him.
The others were silent, listening—Clive with an amused smile, Phyllis with troubled eyes.