“And now, ma’am,” he observed, “that part of the business is over. The next part’s even more in the family, so I thought we didn’t need legal advice. You see just how matters stand. My niece is a poor girl. She needs somebody to support her and look out for her. She’s got that somebody, we’re all thankful to say. She’s engaged to Mr. Malcolm here. And, as you’re his ma, Mrs. Dunn, and I’m Caroline’s guardian, us old folks’ll take our affairs in hand; they needn’t listen, if they don’t want to. I understand from Steve that Malcolm’s been mighty anxious to have the weddin’ day hurried along. I can’t say as I blame him. And I think the sooner they’re married the better. Now, how soon can we make it, Mrs. Dunn?”
This unexpected and matter-of-fact query was variously received. Mrs. Dunn frowned and flushed. Malcolm frowned, also. Steve nodded emphatic approval. As for Caroline, she gazed at her guardian in horrified amazement.
“Why!” she cried. “You—you—What do you mean by such—”
“Don’t be an idiot, Caro!” cut in her brother. “I told you to be sensible. Captain Warren’s dead right.”
“Stevie, you stay out of this.” There was no misunderstanding the captain’s tone. “When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it. And, Caroline, I want you to stay out, too. This is my trick at the wheel. Mrs. Dunn, what d’you say? Never mind the young folks. You and me know that marriage is business, same as everything else. How soon can we have the weddin’?”
Mrs. Dunn had, apparently, nothing to say—to him. She addressed her next remark to Caroline.
“My dear,” she said, in great agitation, “this is really too dreadful. This—er—guardian of yours appears to think he is in some barbarous country—ordering the savages about. Come! Malcolm, take her away.”
“No,” Captain Elisha stepped in front of the door. “She ain’t goin’; and I’d rather you wouldn’t go yet. Let’s settle this up now. I ain’t askin’ anything unreasonable. Caroline’s under my charge, and I’ve got to plan for her. Your boy’s just crazy to marry her; he’s been beggin’ for her to name the day. Let’s name it. It needn’t be to-morrow. I cal’late you’ll want to get out invitations and such. It needn’t be next week. But just say about when it can be; then I’ll know how to plan. That ain’t much to ask, sartin.”
Much or little, neither Mrs. Dunn nor her son appeared ready to answer. Malcolm fidgeted with his hat and gloves; his mother fanned herself with her handkerchief. Caroline, frantic with humiliation and shame, would have protested again, but her guardian’s stern shake of the head silenced her.
“Well, Mr. Dunn,” turning to the groom-to-be; “you’re one of the interested parties—what do you say?”