“What?” screamed Pauline. “Who are you going to marry?”
“None of your business,” retorted her brother.
“It is very much my business,” broke in Calhoun-Cooper, who had been holding a hurried conversation with Barnard. “Considering you are not of legal age to marry in the District without your parent’s consent.”
“We can be married in Rockville,” replied Joe heatedly. “I suppose you read the marriage license published in the Star tonight.”
“Your mother read it after dinner, and at once notified me at the Capitol.”
“It’s rotten luck!” complained Joe bitterly. “I didn’t know they’d publish it. Why should you withhold your consent, father? Kathryn Allen is worthy of respect and love.”
“Kathryn Allen!” Pauline’s face turned red with mortification and rage. “You propose marrying that girl of questionable repute? You dare to think of bringing her into our family!”
“My family is quite as good as yours,” retorted a voice from the other side of the room, and Kathryn Allen, who had been an interested listener in the passageway, stepped to Joe’s side. She had discarded Marjorie’s sweater, and straightened her dress. She looked a model trained nurse in her simple white uniform. For a moment the others were too astounded to speak.
“Are you Kathryn Allen?” asked Calhoun-Cooper.
“Yes,” proudly. “And your son has the honor to be engaged to me.” She flashed a triumphant look at Pauline whose indignation prevented speech on her part.