“Only lately. Mrs. Topcroft knew of it from the beginning: Emily is her niece. She knew also that I released Emily from the engagement years ago, and she thought I did rightly, my future being so hopeless. But how very silly people must be to suppose I could think of that child Emma! I must set them right.”
“Never mind the people,” cried Miss Deveen. “Don’t set them right until you feel quite inclined to do so. As to that, I believe Emma has done it already. How long is it that you and Emily have waited for one another?”
“Fourteen years.”
“Fourteen years! It seems half a lifetime. Do not let another day go on, Mr. Lake; marry at once.”
“That was one of the points on which I wished to ask your opinion,” he rejoined, his tones hesitating, his face shrinking from the moonlight. “Do you think it would be wrong of me to marry—almost directly? Would it be at all unseemly?”
“Wrong? Unseemly?” cried Miss Deveen. “In what way?”
“I hardly know. It may appear to the parish so very hurried. And it is so short a time since my kind Rector died.”
“Never mind the parish,” reiterated Miss Deveen. “The parish would fight at your marriage, though it were put off for a twelvemonth; be sure of that. As to Mr. Selwyn, he was no relative of yours. Surely you have waited long enough! Were I your promised wife, sir, I wouldn’t have you at all unless you married me to-morrow morning.”
They both laughed a little. “Why should the parish fight at my marriage, Miss Deveen?” he suddenly asked.