“I know. I will see to all that, but I think you had better ask the Barrys to be present,” she said.
“I will ask them,” he replied.
The door opened, admitting Doctor Charley.
“I am ready to go with you, Cecil, to see about the license and the minister.”
“Thank you,” then with inexpressible bitterness: “Let us be quite sure to have the right name this time.”
“All right. I asked her and she wrote it down for me here,” handing Cecil a card on which he read in a familiar chirography that made his heart throb fiercely, the simple name:
“Mary Ernestine Trueheart.”
Charley continued, kindly:
“Her age is about eighteen. She could not have been much more than a child when you first saw her, Cecil?”
“Mrs. Barry said she was five-and-twenty,” he replied, and there flashed over him a remembrance of the times when Molly had declared she was not yet seventeen.