She placed a chair for him, but he continued standing, hat in hand, and leaned carelessly upon the chair back. He was the picture of elegance and cool serenity, while Lally, flushed and excited, glanced down at her own attire in dismay.
“I understand that Rufus has remained in Kent,” she said, all breathless and joyous, “and I suppose you have been kind enough to come to take me to him. I fear I am hardly fit to accompany you, Mr. Black. We have been so poor, so terribly poor. But I will be ready in a moment. Oh, I am so grateful to you, sir, for your goodness to us. Poor Rufus feared your anger more than all things else. I know I am no fit match for your son, but—but I love him so,” and the bright face drooped shyly. “I will be a good wife to him, sir, and a good daughter to you.”
“Stay,” said Mr. Black, in a cold, metallic voice. “You are laboring under a misapprehension, Miss Bird. I am not come to take you down into Kent. You will never look upon the face of Rufus Black again.”
“Sir!”
“I mean it, madam. I pity you from my soul; I do, indeed. It were better for you if you had never seen Rufus Black. You fancy yourself his wife. You are not so.”
“Not his wife? Oh, sir, then you do not know? Why, we were married at St. Mary’s Church, in the parish of Newington. Our marriage is registered there, and Rufus has a certificate of the marriage.”
“But still you are not married,” said the pitiless visitor, his keen eyes lancing the soul of the tortured girl. “Permit me to explain. My son procured a marriage license, and he made oath that you and he were both of age, and legally your own masters. He swore to a lie. Now that is perjury. A marriage of minors without consent of parents is null and void, and my consent was not given. Your marriage is illegal, is no marriage at all. You are as free and Rufus is as free as if this little episode had not been.”
“Oh, Heaven!” moaned the young girl, in a wild strained voice, sinking back into a chair. “Not married—not his wife!”
“You are not his wife,” declared Craven Black mercilessly. “I cannot comprehend by what fascination you lured my son into this connection with you, but no doubt he was equally to blame. He is well born and well connected. You are neither. A marriage between you and him is something preposterous. I have no fancy for an alliance with the family of a tallow-chandler. I speak plainly, because delicacy is out of place in handling this affair. You are of one grade in life, we of another. I recognize your ambition and desire to rise in the world, but it must not be done at my expense.”
“Ambition?” repeated poor Lally, putting her hand to her forehead. “I never thought of rising in the world when I married Rufus. I loved him, and he loved me. And we meant to work together, and we have been so happy. Oh, I am married to him! Do not say that I am not. I am his wife, Mr. Black—I am his own wife!”