“Nineteen.”
“And Hilda?”
“Sixteen.”
He knew their ages quite well. It was merely the bugle before the attack.
“Hedwig is old enough to marry. Her grandmother was not nineteen when I married her.”
“It would be better,” said Annunciata, “to marry her while she is young, before she knows any better.”
“Any better than what?” inquired the King testily.
“Any better than to marry at all.”
The King eyed her. She was not, then, even attempting to hide her claws. But he was an old bird, and not to be caught in an argumentative cage.
“There are several possibilities for Hedwig,” he said. “I have gone into the matter pretty thoroughly. As you know, I have had this on my mind for some time. It is necessary to arrange things before I—go.”