“ But, George,” said her father, “what sort of marriage do you want? You don’t want to go to one of those there registry offices?”
“ That’s exactly what I’d like to do. Marriage is too private a thing—”
“ I shouldn’t feel married,” said Mrs. Ramboat.
“ Look here, Marion,” I said; “we are going to be married at a registry office. I don’t believe in all these fripperies and superstitions, and I won’t submit to them. I’ve agreed to all sorts of things to please you.”
“ What’s he agreed to?” said her father—unheeded.
“ I can’t marry at a registry office,” said Marion, sallow-white.
“ Very well,” I said. “I’ll marry nowhere else.”
“ I can’t marry at a registry office.”
“ Very well,” I said, standing up, white and tense and it amazed me, but I was also exultant; “then we won’t m
