"'My dear Sabine--have you considered,' and he is lanky--and Oh! I detest him, and I can't imagine why I ever said I would marry him--but if I don't, what _am_ I to do with Aunt Jemima for four years! I should die of it." Michael sat on the edge of the table and looked at her long and deeply.
He took in the childish picture she made in the big chair.

He had no definite appreciation then of her charm, his mind was too fixed upon what seemed a prospect of certain escape from Violet Hatfield and her cunning thirty years of experience.

This young thing could not interfere with him, and divorces in Scotland were not impossible things--they would both gain what they wanted for the time, and it was a fair bargain.

So he said, after a moment: "I will go up to London to-morrow, and if it is as you say that you are free to marry whom and when you will, I will try to get this old lawyer's consent and a special license--But how about your Uncle?
Has he not any legal right over you ?" Miss Delburg laughed contentedly.
"Not in the least--only that I have to live with him until I am married.
Mr.Parsons--that's the lawyer's name--hates him, and he hates Mr.
Parsons.

So I know Mr.Parsons will be delighted to spite him by giving his consent, if you just say Uncle Mortimer is trying to force me into a marriage against my will with his nephew--Samuel Greenbank is his nephew, you know--no relation to me.