“My friend,” said Stephan wearily, “you find us gathered in council. Men say that you kissed my daughter, Maria.”
Cunningham flushed, then stood straight.
“I did,” he said evenly. “I ask your permission to marry her. Is it a crime for me to speak to her first and have her answer?”
Stephan shook his head wearily.
“No. No crime. And if you were one of us I would be glad. I think you are a man. I would join your hands myself. But you are not of our people.”
“And who are you,” demanded Cunningham, “that I am not fit to marry into?”
Stephan’s voice was gentle and quaintly sympathetic.
“We have killed one man who knew the answer to that question,” he said in the teasing soft unfamiliar accent that all the Strange People had. “We do not wish to kill you. And you are not unfit to marry my daughter. My daughter, or any of us, is not fit to marry you.”
Cunningham shook his head.
“Let me be the judge of that.”