The Man and the Moment | Page 8

Michael leaned forward nearer to her.
"Well--no--never, unless you wished."

Miss Delburg actually kicked her feet with delight.
"It is a perfectly splendid suggestion," she announced. "We could just
oblige one another in this way, and need never see or speak to each
other again. What made it come into your head? Do you really think we
could do that--Oh! how rude of me--I've forgotten to pour out your
tea!"
"Never mind, talking about--our marriage--is more interesting," and Mr.
Arranstoun's blue eyes filled with mischievous appreciation of the
situation, even beyond the seriousness of the discussion he meant to
carry to an end. But this aspect did not so much concern Miss Delburg,
as that she had let slip a particular pleasure for the moment, that of
being allowed a teapot in her own hand, instead of being given a huge
bowl of milk with a drop of weak coffee mixed in it, and watching a
like fate fall upon her companions.
When this delightful business was accomplished to her satisfaction, her
sweet little round face a model of serious responsibility the while, she
handed Michael the cup and drew herself back once more into the
depth of the giant chair.
"I can't behave nicely in this great creature," she said, patting the fat
cushioned arms, "and the Mother Superior would be horribly shocked,
but don't let's mind. Now, do tell me something about this plan. You
see," gravely, "I really don't know the world very well yet--I have
always been at the Convent near Tours until a month ago--even in the
holidays, since I was seven--and the Sisters never told me anything
about outside, except that it was a place of pitfalls and that men were
dreadful creatures. I was very happy there, except I wanted to get out
all the time, and when I did and found Uncle and Aunt more tiresome
than the Sisters--there seemed no help for it--only Mr. Greenbank. So I
accepted him this morning. But--" and this awful thought caused her
whole countenance to change. "Now I come to think of it, the usual
getting married means you would have to stay with the man--wouldn't
you? And he wants--he wants to kiss--I mean," hurriedly, "you would
be lovely to marry because I would never have to see you again!"

Michael Arranstoun put his head back and laughed; she was perfectly
delicious--he began to dislike Mr. Greenbank.
His tea was quite forgotten.
"Er--of course not," he agreed. "Well, I could get a special license, if
you could tell me exactly how you stand, and your whole name and
your parents' names, and everything, and we could get their
consent--but I conclude your father, at least, is no longer alive."
Miss Delburg had a very grown-up air now.
"No, my parents are both dead," she told him. "Papa three years ago,
and Mamma for ages, and I never saw them much anyhow. They were
always travelling about, and Mamma was a Frenchwoman and a
Catholic. Her family did not speak to her because she married a
Protestant and an American. And the worry it was for me being brought
up in a convent! because Papa would have me a Protestant, so I do
believe I have got a little religion of my own that is not like either!"
"Yes?"
She continued her narrative in the intervals of the joy of munching
another cake.
"Papa was very rich, and it's all mine--Only it appears he did not
approve of the freedom of American women--and so tied it up so that I
can't get it until I am an old maid of twenty-one--or get married. Is it
not disgusting?"
Michael's thoughts were now concentrating upon the vital points.
"But have you not got a guardian or something?"
"Not exactly. Only an old lawyer person who is now in London. I have
seen Papa's will, and I know I can marry when and whom I like if I get
his consent--and he would give it in a minute, he is sick of me!"
"How fortunate!" Then restlessness seized him again, and he got up,

gulped down his tea, and began his pacing.
"I do think it would be a good plan, and we must do it if we can get this
person's leave--Yes, and do it quickly before we change our minds, or
something interferes. Everyone would think we were perfectly mad, but
as it suits us both, that is no one's business--Only--you are rather
young--and er--I don't know Greenbank. You are sure he is horrid?"
The girl clasped her hands together with force.
"Sure! I should think so--He wears glasses, and has nasty, scrabbly bits
of fur on his face, which he thinks is a beard, and he is pompous and he
talks like this," and she imitated a precise Boston