“Said!” with an involuntary burst of impatience. “Well, perhaps I did, I don’t know. Considerin’ what I have been through since last night—and now with you two comin’ here—this way—I—well, it is a wonder I haven’t said—the Lord knows what. But, Esther Townsend, you must listen and you must let me say things. I don’t think your marryin’ Bob here is dreadful. If you care enough for him to give up everything and every one else for his sake, then it is exactly what you ought to do. It is the way you are doing it that is the dreadful part. Esther, dear, have you thought what this will mean to your Uncle Foster? He worships the ground you walk on. And he has been awfully good to you—you can’t deny that. And, if everything folks say is true, old Mr. Cook idolizes his grandson. They will think your runnin’ off, without so much as a word to them, is dreadful. Indeed and indeed they will! Oh, why be in such a hurry? Why not wait?”
She paused, out of breath, for she had delivered this long speech with all the force that was in her. It had no effect whatever, so far as she could judge by their expressions. And Bob’s immediate reply proved that it had not.
“I know, Miss Clark,” he said. “We both know how they will feel toward us and we have considered it very carefully. But the situation isn’t changed at all. Esther and I mean to marry. You may not believe it—grandfather and Captain Townsend certainly won’t believe it—but neither of us would have hurt their feelings or acted contrary to their wishes if we could have helped it. I am very fond of my grandfather, he has been mighty good to me, and Esther loves her uncle. He has not treated her fairly or honestly, she feels, but she loves him and always will. That is true, isn’t it, Esther?”
“Yes, Bob, absolutely true.”
“Yes, it is. But the fact remains that neither Captain Townsend nor my grandfather would ever consent to our marriage. They hate each other—you know it; everybody knows it. If we waited a year they would not consent. If we waited ten years they would not. So why should we wait? I have money enough of my own to support us for a while and I hope to earn more. It is Esther here who is making the real sacrifice, of course, but she says she is willing to make it. Waiting won’t help anybody. It will only stretch out the quarreling and misery. So, as we see it, it is simply plain common sense, our marrying now. And we shall marry now, just as soon as we can. You can’t stop us—no one can.”
Reliance was silent. She would have liked to say much, to continue her protest—but how could she? The essential fact in this statement was beyond contradiction. Neither Townsend nor Cook would ever consent to such a marriage—she knew it. What Bob Griffin had just said was common sense and nothing else. And yet, conscious of the responsibility forced upon her, she did not entirely surrender. She made one more plea.
“Oh, Esther,” she begged, “are you sure you care enough to—to go through with this? Not just now, but later, all your life? No matter if it means doin’ without all the fine things you have been used to, bein’ poor perhaps—and—”
“Hush! Yes, Auntie, I am sure.”
Her aunt wrung her hands. “Well,” she groaned, “I give up. I have said my say, I guess. I have done what I could. The dear Lord knows I hope we will none of us be too sorry in the years to come.”
She walked across the room, stood there a moment and then turned. Her manner now was brisk and businesslike.