"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.