"Well, I meant to," I told her truthfully enough. "Didn't you expect it?"
"No, sir," was her blunt reply.
"Neither did I," I blurted out before I knew it.
A wry, unaccustomed smile for a moment illumined her dark, gypsy-like features.
"You needn't tell me that," she retorted, and I wonder what she meant by it. It is not like her to waste words. "Am I," she continued, "to take this as notice to find a new place?"
"God forbid!" I cried in horror. "Whatever happens, Griselda, you remain with me—let that be understood."
"And suppose Miss Bayard shouldn't want me?" she demanded with quiet intensity.
"Then she will probably not want me," I told her. "That question won't arise. Besides, Griselda," I went on, "we haven't decided yet how we are going to manage. Miss Bayard will probably want to keep her apartment and I mine. She would hardly wish to be bothered with me all the time."
"And you would call that marriage!" exclaimed Griselda aghast.
"Why not?" I queried mildly. "I don't know much about it, Griselda, but marriage is determined by the kind of license you get at the City Hall and what the alderman says to you. The leases of apartments have nothing to do with it, I'm quite sure—though I might inquire."