"Oh, he isn't such a bad sort, after all. I'd just as soon have him as
any one. Besides, he's an expert at it. If it was left to me, I'd much
rather sit behind the pulpit until it is all over. People won't miss me
while they've got you to look at."

"We could be married so quietly and prettily if it were not for Aunt
Elizabeth," pouted Miss Vernon. "She insists on the church wedding, the
teas and receptions and--"

"All that sort of rot," he interjected, as if fearing she might not
express herself adequately. "I like your Aunt Elizabeth, Grace, but
she's--she's an awful--"

"Don't say it, Hugh. I know what you mean, but she can't help it. She
lives for society. She's perfectly crazy on the subject. Aunt Elizabeth
made up her mind we should be married in church. I have talked myself
black in the face--for your sake, dear--but it was like trying to
convert a stone wall. She is determined. You know what that means."

"No wonder she's a widow," growled Hugh Ridgeway sourly. "Your father
served you a mighty mean trick, dear, when he gave you over to her
training. She might have spoiled you beyond redemption."

"Poor father! He loathed display, too. I've no doubt that is why he left
me in her care until I reached the age of discretion. She was not always
like this. Father's money has wrought the change. Aunty was as poor as a
church mouse until father's death put her at the head of my
household--it was mine, Hugh, even if I was only six years old. You know
we could live pretty well on forty thousand a year."