Jim had come to beg Charity to accept a marriage with an impediment. He had expected a scene when he proposed a flight across the river and a return to Father Knickerbocker with a request for pardon. But her light suggestion of a religious ceremony threw him into confusion. He mumbled:
“Is a parson absolutely necessary?”
Charity's lips set into a grim line.
“I'll be married by a parson or I'll not be married at all. The Church has enough against me on account of my divorce and this last ghastly thing. To get married outside the Church would cut me off entirely from everything that's sacred. There won't be any difficulty about getting a parson, will there?”
“Oh no, not at all!” Jim protested, “only—oh no, not at all, except—”
“Only what? Except what?”
“You'll have to go to New Jersey to be married.”
“Why should I?”
“Entirely on my account, honey. It's because I'm in disgrace.”
This way of putting it brought her over that sill with a rush. To be able to endure something for him was a precious ability. She hugged him devoutly, then put his arms away.