“Better not,” counseled the doctor dryly. “He’s Diane’s husband—you can’t get around that; and as long as you made the match——”
“As long as I what?” thundered the judge.
The doctor laughed grimly.
“I said you made the match.”
“Nonsense! Do you take me for an old woman? The girl made it herself. She’s competent to select a husband. She’s got high ideals, too. She’ll hold him to account—I can tell you that!”
The doctor mused.
“I wonder if she will?”
“She will! We had a talk the night before the wedding. It touched me, Sam—touched me to the heart! She came down here and sat with me by the fire, and told me how she felt, how absolutely she demanded truth, honor, high purpose. It was young, of course, and girlish, but it was beautiful. She said she couldn’t marry a man who hadn’t the qualities she believed in. She thought Faunce had them all.”
Gerry stopped smoking. He quietly laid down the stump of his cigar, and, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, gazed thoughtfully into the empty fireplace, for it was too warm now for a fire.
“It’s a pity,” he remarked at last, “that girls have such an amount of imagination. It’s likely to make trouble later on.”