"I am Margarita," she said. "Did you bring some one who knows how to marry people? Roger said you would."
"I brought him—he's out there," I answered, pointing to the ocean generally.
She followed my arm with interest in her eyes. "Oh! Is that where he will do it?" she asked. "Roger did not tell me that. Is he swimming?"
"I think not," I answered seriously, "I think he is in a boat."
"I am glad of that," she remarked, "because I cannot swim, myself. And I must be with Roger, you know, when we are being married."
"It is usual," I admitted. I was really only half aware of the extraordinary character of our conversation. Every one became primitive in talking with Margarita and fell, more or less, into her style of discourse.
"Have you been married?" she asked placidly, her grave, lovely eyes full on mine. She sat quite motionless, her hands loose in her lap, neither twiddling them aimlessly nor pretending to employ them in the hundred nervous ways common to her sex.
"No."
"Neither have I. Neither has Roger. But many people have. It cannot be hard."
"Oh, no! I believe it is the simplest thing in the world," I said, eyeing her narrowly. Was she teasing me? I wondered.