“I didn’t mean to doubt what you told me, child,” he said, while he was writing. “You’ve rather startled me with this piece of news. Human life is very uncertain,” he added, using the clergyman’s own words, “and it may be just as well that there should be a note made of this. Hadn’t you better let me keep the certificate itself? It will be quite safe with my papers.” “I wish you would,” answered Katharine, after a moment’s thought. The production of the certificate had produced a momentary cessation of hostilities, so to speak, but the old gentleman had by no means said his last word yet, nor Katharine either. “Go on, my dear,” he resumed gravely. “If I’m to know anything, I should know everything, I suppose.” “There’s not very much more to tell,” Katharine replied. “I repeat that it was all I could do to persuade Jack to take the step. He resisted to the very last--” “Hm! He seems to have taken an active part in the proceedings in spite of his resistance--” “Of course he did, after I had persuaded him to. It was up to that point that he resisted--and even after everything was ready--even this morning, when I met him, he told me that I ought not to have come.” “His spirit seems to have been willing to have some sense--but the flesh was weak,” observed the old gentleman, without a smile. “I insist upon taking the whole responsibility,” said Katharine. “It was I who proposed it, and it was I who made him do it.” “You’re evidently the strong-minded member, my dear.” “In this--yes. I love him, and I made up my mind that it was right to love him and that I would marry him. Now I have.” “It is impossible to make a more direct statement of an unpleasant truth. And now that you’ve done it, you mean that your family shall take the consequences--which shows a strong sense of that responsibility you mentioned--and so you’ve come to me. Why didn’t you come to me yesterday? It would have been far more sensible.” “I did think of coming yesterday afternoon--and then it rained, and Charlotte came--” “Yes--it rained--I remember.” Robert Lauderdale’s mouth quivered, as though he should have liked to smile at the utter insignificance of the shower as compared with the importance of Katharine’s action. “You might have taken a cab. There’s a stand close by your house, at the Brevoort.” “Oh, yes--of course--though I should have had to ask mamma for some money, and that would have been very awkward, you know. And if I had really and truly meant to come, I suppose I shouldn’t have minded the rain.” “Well--never mind the rain now!” Uncle Robert spoke a little impatiently. “You didn’t come--and you’ve come to-day, when it’s too late to do anything--except regret what you’ve done.” “I don’t regret it at all--and I don’t intend to,” Katharine answered firmly. “And what do you mean to do in the future? Live with Ralston’s mother? Is that your idea?”