His abstracted look, his ragged talk, troubled Schnapsie at the
evening meal, but she could not elicit that anything had happened.
In the evening paper, her eye, avid of marriage items, paused on a
big-headed paragraph.
"I FORBID THE BANNS!"
STRANGE SCENE AT A CHALK FARM CHURCH.
When she had finished the paragraph and read another, the first began
to come back to her, shadowed with a strange suspicion. Why, this was
the very church--? A Jewish-looking old man--! Great heavens! Then all
this had been mere pose, self-sacrifice. And his wits were straying
under the too heavy burden! Only blind craving for her own happiness
could have made her believe that the mental habits of seventy years
could be broken off.
"Well, father," she said brightly, "you will be losing me very soon
now."
His lips quivered into a pathetic smile.
"I am very glad." He paused, struggling with himself. "If you are sure
you will be happy!"
"But haven't we talked that over enough, father?"
"Yes--but you know--if a quarrel arose, he would always throw it
up--that--"
"Nonsense, nonsense," she laughed. But the repetition of the old
thought struck her poignantly as a sign of maundering wits.
"And you are sure you will get along together?"
"Quite sure."
"Then I am glad." He drew her to him, and kissed her.
She broke down and wept under the conviction of his lying. He became
the comforter in his turn.
"Don't cry, little Schnapsie, don't cry. I didn't mean to frighten
you. Alfred is a good man, and I am sure, even if you quarrel, he will
never throw it--" The mumbling passed into a kiss on her wet cheek.