He himself seemed somewhat embarrassed.
"You see, Natalie, there would be no difficulty at all if you and I could get married within the next few days."
Her eyes were cast down, and she was silent.
"You don't think it possible you could get your father to consent?" he said, but without much hope.
"Oh no, I think not; I fear not," she said, in a low voice.
"Then you see, Natalie," he continued—and he spoke quite lightly, as if it was merely an affair of a moment—"there would be this little awkwardness: you are not of age; unless you get your father's consent, you cannot marry until you are twenty-one. It is not a long time—"
"I did not think of it," she said, very hurriedly, and even breathlessly. "I only thought it—it seemed hard you should go away alone—and I considered myself already your wife—and I said, 'What ought I to do?' And now—now you will tell me what to do. I do not know—I have no one to ask."
"Do you think," said he, after a pause, "that you would forget me, if you were to remain two years in England while I was in America?"
She regarded him for a moment with those large, true eyes of hers; and she did not answer in words.
"There is another way; but—it is asking too much," he said.