“That’s not it,” broke in William, “at least it’s not the main thing. The main thing is, they don’t understand how we feel. They’re unreasonable, like my father and mother. If I couldn’t support her, it would be different. But I can. Besides I’ve got reason to think that Mary’s father doesn’t like me anyway.” He looked now at Mary as though ties of blood demanded that she receive this accusation.
“It’s William’s politics,” she faltered again. “He’s a Democrat, and father is unreasonable. At Christmas, when I talked with him, he said he hoped William would change. But William won’t!” Decision had crept into her voice. “And I’m glad! I wouldn’t marry a man who would change his politics—even for my father.”
Mary Christmas was quick to detect a quality which had crept into her last words.
“Even for your father.” She repeated Mary’s words. “Your father. How do you suppose he will feel when he hears you would not wait? And your mother, too?”
“It’s not just a case of waiting,” interrupted William, to the relief of Mary, who was in no condition to answer Mary Christmas’ questions. “If we could be sure about a year from now—but we can’t! And it’s right about my politics. Mr. Wescott has insulted my party.” William drew himself up proudly. “He has said openly that no intelligent person could be a Democrat.”
“It’s been awfully hard for William,” said Mary from behind her handkerchief.
William consulted his watch. “There’s no use standing here talking, Mary Christmas.” There was finality in his tone. “I’ve got two friends waiting for us now, and we’re due at the church at five o’clock. You can tell them that you saw us here if you like. Of course, we’ll telegraph them just as soon as we’re married. And they needn’t any of them worry over Mary. I’ll be good to her all my life—even if I am a Democrat! And I’m not urging her to be married this way. We talked it all over when I was out at college a week ago.”
“They needn’t blame William!” cried Mary with the last spurt of a dying spirit. “I planned it all—myself!”
For a moment Mary Christmas was in a quandary. Here was the time and place for the interference that must come; but how should she interpose it? And then something happened, almost miraculously, which took away all necessity for it.
“You know you haven’t any right to interfere with us, Mary Christmas,” cried William. “Not the least in the world!”