"Encumbrances?"
"No," answered Barton. "Not exactly. There were rumors of a husband in the background somewhere, but he was not produced."
"A pretty widow is beyond the habeas corpus act," mused Willoughby.
"Quite so," Barton admitted. "But, at all events, there was nothing really known against the lady except a maiden aunt, and this objectionable relative was, by the way, quite as much opposed to the match as were Carhart's own people."
"And why were they opposed to it?"
"Oh, you see, with his proclivities for poetry and acting, they were afraid an unhappy marriage would drive him to the stage, and, naturally, they took every measure to prevent it."
Here Barton paused to light a fresh cigar, while we others sipped our coffee thoughtfully.
"And what were these preventive measures?" Willoughby inquired.
"Oh, the usual thing," said Barton. "Threats, badgering, advice and promises. All these failed to move him; he was determined to make her his wife, and, as a last resource, his father wrote to me, putting the matter in my hands without reserve. Our ancestors came over on the same boat, so it appeared."
"The Mayflower," I breathed, but that was scarcely necessary.