“But, Ralph, I gave father fair warning. And this happens to be a case where he is wrong and I am right. I don’t think that just because I’m—I’m fond of you, but I can see, you know, just what you have got, and what the other men I know haven’t got, better than father can. He will see it too, some day, and thank me—I told him so. I’m not really eloping, since eighteen is the age for a girl in this state. And the fact that you’re not of age yet doesn’t matter, for you haven’t any parents or guardians to object. And father needn’t give us any money—we can get along with yours and mine. Now the train is due in three minutes and, of course, you needn’t marry me if you don’t want to. But if you do, you’d better get the tickets.”
Three hours later the two emerged from a cab in front of an imposing courthouse and followed endless lengths of unclean, tessellated pavement until they reached a door bearing the significant sign: “Marriage Licenses.” The clerk had the engraved forms out before anything coherent had been said. He was a hurried, dry little man, who appeared suffering to say, “Step lively, please!” at every pause.
“Parents or guardian’s consent?”
“I have no parents or guardian.”
“Can’t issue license to you then.”
“What?—why—why not?”
“Law of the state.”
“But I am of age!”
“Oh, yes, you can get married all right, but he can’t.”
“But what can we do?”