Miss Ogilvy turned pale. She had intended to scheme for this very result, but confronted with the fact, her better nature prevailed, and she faltered out,
“Oh—oh—it is too great a risk! No woman should go as far as that. We are all willing to help him, but that you should be sacrificed—you—you of all——”
“I am not sacrificing myself. Do you fancy I am so great a fool as that? No—no—that is not the reason I shall marry him!”
“He certainly is a great poet and has improved vastly in appearance. I never should have believed it to be possible.” The inevitable was working in Miss Ogilvy. “But Mrs. Nunn? All her friends? There will be dreadful scenes. Oh Anne, dear, they will rush you off. They will never permit it.”
“My aunt controls nothing but my property, and not the interest of that. If she refuses her consent I shall simply walk up to Fig Tree Church and marry Mr. Warner.”
Miss Ogilvy recovered herself completely. “You will do nothing of the sort,” she cried, warm with friendship and the prospect of figuring in the most sensational episode Nevis had known this many a year. “Come to me. Be my guest until the banns have been properly published, and marry from Ogilvy Grange. Everything must be de rigueur, or I should never forgive myself. And it would give me the greatest happiness, dear Anne. Mama and papa do everything I wish, and papa is one of Mr. Warner’s father’s oldest friends. Mrs. Nunn will not consent. So promise that you will come to me.”
“I am very grateful. I had not thought much about Aunt Emily’s opposition, but no doubt she will turn me out of Bath House. You may see me at the Grange to-night.”
“Send one of the grooms with a note as soon as you have had the inevitable scene. I only hope the result will be that I send the coach for you to-day. I do hope you’ll be happy. Why shouldn’t you? Byam Warner would not be the first man to settle down in matrimony. But can you stand living your life on Nevis.”
“I should have wished to live here had I never met Byam Warner.”
“Oh—well—you are not to be pitied. I shall paint you while you are at the Grange, all in white—only in a smarter gown—in this setting, and with those blue butterflies circling about your head. You cannot imagine what a picture you made. What a pity I frightened them away. Now, mind you write me at once.”