"Yes," came the answer in a choked voice.
"Don't do it. What are you thinking of? I'd rather die a hundred deaths than have you marry him."
"I must, Jack. If you should be killed—and I could have prevented it—— Oh, don't you see I must?"
The words were wrung from her in a cry, as if she had been a tortured child.
"Of course she must. But why make a tragedy of it? By Heaven, you wound my vanity between the pair of you. Am I not straight—as good a man as my neighbor—still young? Come, let us make an end of the heavy-villain-and-hero business. You, my dear Sedgwick, shall stand up and give the bride away. That is to say, you shall stand at your porthole. You'll find rice in a sack to scatter if you will. We want you to enjoy yourself. Don't we, Evie?" Bothwell jeered blithely.
"You devil from hell!"
"Pooh! Be reasonable, man. We can't both marry the maid, and by your leave I think the best man wins. Abrupt I may be, but every Katherine is the better for her Petruchio." He turned to her, dropping his irony for tones of curt command. "I'll be back in twenty minutes with the parson. Be ready then."
With that he turned on his heel and left, locking the door behind him.