Mr. Desiderius Mules ran back into his study, pulled a whiff at his pipe to prevent the fire from going out, moistened his untempered clay with brandy and water, and came back again with a Book of Common Prayer.
“Here we are,” said he. “‘Wilt thou have this man,’ and so on—you answered to that, I believe. Then comes ‘I, Judith, take thee, Curll, to my wedded husband’—you were indistinct over that, I believe.”
“I remember nothing about it. Now I will say distinctly my meaning. I will not take Curll Coppinger to my wedded husband, and thereto I will never give my troth—so help me, God.”
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed the rector. “You put me in a queer position. I married you, and you can’t undo what is done. You have the ring on your finger.”
“No, here it is. I return it.”
“I refuse to take it. I have nothing whatever to do with the ring. Captain Coppinger put it on your hand.”
“When I was unconscious.”
“But am I to be choused out of my fee—as out of other things!”
“You shall have your fee. Do not concern yourself about that. I refuse to consider myself married. I refuse to sign the register, no man shall force me to it, and if it comes to law, here are witnesses, you yourself are a witness, that I was unconscious when you married me.”
“I shall get into trouble! This is a very unpleasant state of affairs.”