“To-morrow morning at seven-thirty,” interjected Collingwood. “We are going out on the Coastguard boat at ten.”
Here was a burning of bridges, a lover who wooed and a maid who did not dally! The Judge asked where the ceremony would take place, and was told to come to a certain church not far from the hospital. Once more his over-restraint betrayed him, and Miss Ponsonby guessed his surprise.
“We were both brought up Catholics,” she said, “and though we have neither of us clung very closely to the Mother Church, that is where we naturally turn on such an occasion. We have not needed a dispensation. The path has been easy.” She smiled enigmatically.
“No, we haven’t needed a dispensation from the Pope,” said Collingwood, “but apparently we cannot manage our own affairs without the help of the Civil Government. I am not sure that we shall get through to-morrow without the appearance of some of the gang declaring that there are reasons why this woman should not be married to this man.”
“The Civil Government?” repeated Judge Barton, mystified. Then a light broke upon him. “Of course—you are under contract.” He addressed Miss Ponsonby.
“My service under contract was fulfilled five months ago,” she replied. “I am at liberty to leave Government employ any moment I wish.”
“But they are long on eminent medicos and short on nurses,” went on Collingwood, whose spirits were evidently riotous, “and when Miss Ponsonby sent in her resignation, they informed her of the fact, and, by the Lord! they had the effrontery to expect us to arrange our affairs to suit their convenience. The letter has gone back and forth till it has eighteen endorsements. It hove in sight a few days ago in an extra large envelope. I told Charlotte to put on a nineteenth, and to end the whole matter by telling the Civil Commission and the Bureau of Health and the Marine Hospital Service all three to go to the devil.”
“Which it was manifestly impossible for me to do,” added Miss Ponsonby, blushing.
“Manifestly,” assented the Judge, with a short laugh. To him whose whole policy was diplomacy here was temerity in a twentieth century citizen of the American Republic to mock the Civil Commission. As well a Venetian in the twelfth had jeered at the Council of Ten.
“Manifestly is a good word,” Collingwood went on. “It was, as you say, manifestly impossible that Miss Ponsonby should tell the Bureau of Health to go to the devil, but it was manifestly ordained that I should write them a letter, telling them what I thought of them, and telling them to go to the devil’s place of residence; which I did. Forthwith, Miss Ponsonby was fired, bag and baggage, from Civil employ. They had not seen their way to releasing her for six months, but when she crossed Their High-Mightinesses—or when I did it for her—they could let her go in twenty-four hours. Well, what’s one man’s meat is another man’s poison. I don’t know about their poison, but I knew my meat when they put it in my hand, and I’m not the man to let it go.”