"I am not interested in analyzing exactly what I felt for him,"
said Kate. "It made small difference then; it makes none at all
now. I would have married him gladly, and I would have been to
him all a good wife is to any man; then in a few seconds I turned
squarely against him, and lost my respect for him. You couldn't
marry me to him if he were the last and only man on earth; but it
hurt terribly, let me tell you that!"
George Holt suddenly arose and went to Kate. He sat down close
beside her and leaned toward her.
"There isn't the least danger of my trying to marry you to him,"
he said, "because I am going to marry you myself at the very first
opportunity. Why not now? Why not have a simple ceremony
somewhere at once, and go away until school begins, and forget
him, having a good time by ourselves? Come on, Kate, let's do it!
We can go stay with Aunt Ollie, and if he comes trying to force
himself on you, he'll get what he deserves. He'll learn that
there is something on earth he can't buy with his money."
"But I don't love you," said Kate.
"Neither did you love him," retorted George Holt. "I can prove it
by what you say. Neither did you love him, but you were going to
marry him, and use all his wonderful power of position and wealth,
and trust to association to BRING love. You can try that with me.
As for wealth, who cares? We are young and strong, and we have a
fine chance in the world. You go on and teach this year, and I'll
get such a start that by next year you can be riding around in
your carriage, proud as Pompey."
"Of course we could make it all right, as to a living," said Kate.
"Big and strong as we are, but --"
Then the torrent broke. At the first hint that she would consider
his proposal George Holt drew her to him and talked volumes of
impassioned love to her. He gave her no chance to say anything;
he said all there was to say himself; he urged that Jardine would
come, and she should not be there. He begged, he pleaded, he
reasoned. Night found Kate sitting on the back porch at Aunt
Ollie's with a confused memory of having stood beside the little
stream with her hand in George Holt's while she assented to the
questions of a Justice of the Peace, in the presence of the School
Director and Mrs. Holt. She knew that immediately thereafter they
had walked away along a hot, dusty country road; she had tried to
eat something that tasted like salted ashes. She could hear
George's ringing laugh of exultation breaking out afresh every few
minutes; in sudden irritation at the latest guffaw she clearly
remembered one thing: in her dazed and bewildered state she had
forgotten to tell him that she was a Prodigal Daughter.