Mr. Wilks cleared his throat and turned an agonized eye on Mr. Nugent. He would have liked to have asked why Mrs. Silk should think it necessary to inform him, but the fear of precipitating a crisis stayed his tongue.
“What I'm to do, I don't know,” continued Mrs. Silk, feebly. “You can't 'ave two queens in one 'ouse, so to speak.”
“But she was walking out with Teddy long ago,” urged Mr. Wilks. “It's no worse now than then.”
“But I wouldn't be married by license,” said Mrs. Silk, deftly ignoring the remark. “If I can't be asked in church in the proper way I won't be married at all.”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Nugent; “there's something so sudden about a license,” he added, with feeling.
“Me and Mr. Wilks was talking about marriage only the other day,” pursued Mrs. Silk, with a bashfulness which set every nerve in the steward's body quivering, “and we both agreed that banns was the proper way.
“You was talking about it,” corrected Mr. Wilks, in a hoarse voice. “You brought up the subject and I agreed with you—not that it matters to me 'ow people get married. That's their affair. Banns or license, it's all one to me.”
“I won't be married by license,” said Mrs. Silk, with sudden petulance; “leastways, I'd rather not be,” she added, softening.
Mr. Wilks took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose violently. Mrs. Silk's methods of attack left him little opportunity for the plain speaking which was necessary to dispel illusions. He turned a watery, appealing eye on to Mr. Nugent, and saw to his surprise that that gentleman was winking at him with great significance and persistence. It would have needed a heart of stone to have been unaffected by such misery, and tonight Mr. Nugent, thankful for his own escape, was in a singularly merciful mood.
“All this sounds as though you are going to be married,” he said, turning to Mrs. Silk with a polite smile.