"Well, as a matter of fact, no, I'm not," he admitted sulkily. "Apparently you have to live in a parish for a certain amount of time first. One would imagine it was a crime to get married by the difficulties the parson made." "Then you'll think better of it?" his mother pleaded. "You'll change your mind and come back with me to High Corner? Father will say nothing. Your mad freak shall be forgiven and forgotten." "Steady on, Mother. I can't leave Mary like that. You see, it's a bit awkward. I thought I should have been married to-day, and so we should have been if I hadn't made a muddle about the license. I wanted to be married in a register office, but Mary stuck out for a church. She can't believe that any other kind of marriage is genuine. Besides, I don't want to give her up, if that's what you mean by coming back to High Corner." His mother argued with him in vain. He did not attempt to answer her, but stood sulkily first on his right leg, then on his left leg until she stopped talking. "I don't agree with you that she'll drag me down, as you say. I think it will buck me up to be married." "But, my dear boy, look at your surroundings already. Look at this horrible hotel. How on earth did you ever come to discover such a place? It's like some dreadful place in a French novel." "The bedrooms are all right," Geoffrey said. "And we've been eating out. I think if you'd let me bring Mary down to see you, you wouldn't be so much upset by the prospect of my future. Anyway, you needn't think I'll disgrace the family. I've made up my mind to emigrate. It's a funny thing, but when a fellow does what he thinks is the right thing to do, he gets more blamed than if he just plays about with a girl." "Geoffrey," said his mother, "I'm grieved that I cannot see things from your point of view; but you are too young, my dear boy, to hamper yourself like this so early in your life. I have never told you before; but I think that it is only fair that I should tell you about your grandfather. He quarreled with his father because he insisted on marrying my mother. They emigrated, and both he and my mother were drowned. I was a baby then, and I was about the only person saved from the wreck." "Well, it's much safer traveling nowadays," argued Geoffrey obstinately. "And anyway I don't see that it did you much harm." "But it caused infinite misery to others. My grandmother never really got over it. It brought about the extinction of the Flowers." "I'm sorry, Mother, but I can't go back on my word. Besides, we've been living here as man and wife. It wouldn't be right." This boy of nineteen to be talking of living here as man and wife! Mary was suddenly chilled. "Very well, Geoffrey, if you will not listen to me, I must see what your father can do. You must remember that you are not yet of age, and if your father sees fit to exercise his authority you will _have_ to obey. I shall telegraph for him at once."