"He's only a kid. He's barely twenty," my aunt went on, inexorably. "He's got to help his mother. He's not got enough to marry; any girl who married him would have to live with the old folks. Look where you're going, Deolda."
There was silence, and I heard their footsteps going to their rooms.
The next day Deolda went to walk, and back she came, old Conboy driving her in his motor. Old Conboy was rich; he had one of the first motors on the Cape, when cars were still a wonder. After that Deolda went off in Conboy's motor as soon as her dishes were done and after supper there would be handsome Johnny Deutra. We were profoundly shocked. You may be sure village tongues were already busy after a few days of these goings on.
"Deolda," my aunt said, sternly, "what are you going out with that old Conboy for?"
"I'm going to marry him," Deolda answered.
"You're what?"
"Going to marry him," Deolda repeated in her cool, truthful way that always took my breath.
"Has he asked you?" my aunt inquired, sarcastically.
"No, but he will," said Deolda. She looked out under her long, slanting eyes that looked as if they had little red flames dancing in the depths of them.
"But you love Johnny," my aunt went on.