Anne straightened her slender figure and threw back her head. “On the contrary, mother,” she said clearly, “Doctor Curtis and I will carry out Uncle John’s plans to the letter.”
Mrs. Meredith gazed at her, thunderstruck. “You mean—”
“That our marriage will take place before this week is out.”
Mrs. Meredith, livid with wrath, sat for some moments absolutely silent. When she finally spoke, both voice and manner were more conciliatory.
“Heroics are all very well in their place,” she began, “but before this rash marriage is consummated, there are many things to consider. First, Doctor Curtis is blind. He has no future,” she paused, “but he has a past—”
“Explain your hints, mother,” as Mrs. Meredith paused again.
“Has he spoken to you of his past career?”
“No.” Anne’s white cheeks turned crimson. “We have never had a lengthy conversation.”
“It is just as well,” dryly. “I have started an investigation—”
Anne was on her feet, her usually calm, cold demeanor transformed into passionate fervor. “I warn you, mother, to stop any so-called investigations. Is your record, and mine, so clean in this plan for a hurried, wild marriage that we can afford to blacken the man, who under hard pressure of blindness and destitution consented to it?”