He spoke in an indistinct mumble.
“Thought you knew… Darling-you’re so lovely… I want to marry you… You must marry me-
you must-you must….”
3
Laura looked at Henry with a kind of desperation.
It was exactly, she thought, like climbing up a steep hill on an icy day-you slipped back as fast as you advanced.
“Shirley is too young,” she said, “far too young.”
“Come now, Laura, she’s nineteen. One of my grandmothers was married at sixteen, and had twins before she was eighteen.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And lots of people have married young in the war.”
“And have already lived to regret it.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking rather a gloomy view? Shirley and I shan’t regret.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do,” he grinned at her. “I’m positive. I do really love Shirley madly. And I shall do everything I can to make her happy.”
He looked at her hopefully. He said again:
“I really do love her.”
As before, his patent sincerity disarmed Laura. He did love Shirley.
“I know, of course, that I’m not particularly well off-”
There again he was disarming. For it wasn’t the financial angle that worried Laura. She had no ambition for Shirley to make what is called a ‘good match.’ Henry and Shirley would not have a large income to start life on, but they would have enough, if they were careful. Henry’s prospects were no worse than those of hundreds of other young men released from the services with their way to make. He had good health, good brains, great charm of manner. Yes, perhaps that was it. It was his charm that made Laura mistrust him. No one had any right to have as much charm as Henry had.
She spoke again, a tone of authority in her voice.
“No, Henry. There can be no question of marriage as yet. A year’s engagement, at least. That gives you both time to be sure you know your own minds.”
“Really, Laura dear, you might be at least fifty. A heavy Victorian father rather than a sister.”
“I have to stand in the place of a father to Shirley. That gives time for you to find a job and get yourself established.”
“How depressing it all sounds.” His smile was still charming. “I don’t believe you want Shirley to marry anybody.”
Laura flushed.
“Nonsense.”
Henry was pleased with the success of his stray shaft. He went away to find Shirley.
“Laura,” he said, “is being tiresome. Why shouldn’t we get married? I don’t want to wait. I hate waiting for things. Don’t you? If one waits too long for anything, one loses interest. Of course we could go off and get quietly married at a registry office somewhere. How about it? It would save a lot of fuss.”
“Oh no, Henry, we couldn’t do that.”
“I don’t see why not? As I say, it would save a lot of fuss all round.”
“I’m under age. Wouldn’t we have to have Laura’s consent?”
“Yes, I suppose you would. She’s your legal guardian, isn’t she? Or is it old what’s his name?”
“I don’t believe I actually know. Baldy is my trustee.”
“The trouble is,” said Henry, “that Laura doesn’t like me.”
“Oh, she does, Henry. I’m sure she does.”
“No, she doesn’t. She’s jealous, of course.”
Shirley looked troubled.
“Do you really think so?”
“She never has liked me-from the beginning. And I’ve taken a lot of trouble to be nice to her.” Henry sounded injured.
“I know. You’re sweet to her. But after all, Henry, we have sprung this rather suddenly on her. We’ve only known each other-what?-three weeks. I suppose it doesn’t really matter if we have to wait a year.”
“Darling, I don’t want to wait a year. I want to marry you now-next week-to-morrow. Don’t you want to marry me?”
“Oh, Henry, I do-I do.”
4
Mr. Baldock had duly been asked to dinner to meet Henry. Afterwards Laura had demanded breathlessly:
“Well, what do you think of him?”
“Now, now, slowly. How can I judge across a dinner-table! Nice manners, doesn’t treat me as an old fogey. Listens to me deferentially.”
“Is that all you’ve got to say? Is he good enough for Shirley?”