“Talk?” said the widow, with an air of mystification belied by her color. “What about?”
Mr. Clark quailed again. “About—about our wedding,” he stammered.
Mr. Tucker and the widow exchanged glances. Then the former took his cigar from his mouth and, with a hopeless gesture threw it into the grate.
“Plenty of time to talk about that,” said Mrs. Bowman, after a pause.
“Time is going,” remarked Mr. Clark. “I was thinking, if it was agreeable to you, of putting up the banns to-morrow.”
“There—there's no hurry,” was the reply.
“'Marry in haste, repent at leisure,'” quoted Mr. Tucker, gravely.
“Don't you want me to put 'em up?” demanded Mr. Clark, turning to Mrs. Bowman.
“There's no hurry,” said Mrs. Bowman again. “I—I want time to think.”
Mr. Clark rose and stood over her, and after a vain attempt to meet his gaze she looked down at the carpet.