for myself and Florence. Each of them really wailed when they
heard that that was what I hoped to give their niece. That may
have been partly because they regarded Europe as a sink of
iniquity, where strange laxities prevailed. They thought the
Mother Country as Erastian as any other. And they carried their
protests to extraordinary lengths, for them. . . .

They even, almost, said that marriage was a sacrament; but neither
Miss Florence nor Miss Emily could quite bring herself to utter
the word. And they almost brought themselves to say that
Florence's early life had been characterized by
flirtations--something of that sort.

I know I ended the interview by saying:

"I don't care. If Florence has robbed a bank I am going to marry her
and take her to Europe." And at that Miss Emily wailed and
fainted. But Miss Florence, in spite of the state of her sister, threw
herself on my neck and cried out: "Don't do it, John. Don't do it.
You're a good young man," and she added, whilst I was getting out
of the room to send Florenc to her aunt's rescue:

"We ought to tell you more. But she's our dear sister's child."

Florence, I remember, received me with a chalk-pale face and the
exclamation:

"Have those old cats been saying anything against me?" But I
assured her that they had not and hurried her into the room of her
strangely afflicted relatives. I had really forgotten all about that