She dropped the little cross, and took hold of his hand, pressing it against her heart. But still her voice was calm:
“No; much better, Daddy; you think I don't know my own feelings, but I do.”
The man in Pierson softened; the priest hardened.
“Nollie, true marriage is the union of souls; and for that, time is wanted. Time to know that you feel and think the same, and love the same things.”
“Yes, I know; but we do.”
“You can't tell that, my dear; no one could in three weeks.”
“But these aren't ordinary times, are they? People have to do things in a hurry. Oh, Daddy! Be an angel! Mother would have understood, and let me, I know!”
Pierson drew away his hand; the words hurt, from reminder of his loss, from reminder of the poor substitute he was.
“Look, Nollie!” he said. “After all these years since she left us, I'm as lonely as ever, because we were really one. If you marry this young man without knowing more of your own hearts than you can in such a little time, you may regret it dreadfully; you may find it turn out, after all, nothing but a little empty passion; or again, if anything happens to him before you've had any real married life together, you'll have a much greater grief and sense of loss to put up with than if you simply stay engaged till after the war. Besides, my child, you're much too young.”
She sat so still that he looked at her in alarm. “But I must!”