And,
if they had not enough money to get along with, they might have
cut their throats, or sponged on her family, though, of course,
Florence wanted such a lot that it would have suited her very
badly to have for a husband a clerk in a dry-goods store, which was
what old Hurlbird would have made of that fellow. He hated him.
No, I do not think that there is much excuse for Florence.
God knows. She was a frightened fool, and she was fantastic, and I
suppose that, at that time, she really cared for that imbecile. He
certainly didn't care for her. Poor thing. . . . At any rate, after I had
assured her that the "Pocahontas" was a steady ship, she just said:
"You'll have to look after me in certain ways--like Uncle Hurlbird
is looked after. I will tell you how to do it." And then she stepped
over the sill, as if she were stepping on board a boat. I suppose she
had burnt hers!
I had, no doubt, eye-openers enough. When we re-entered the
Hurlbird mansion at eight o'clock the Hurlbirds were just
exhausted. Florence had a hard, triumphant air. We had got
married about four in the morning and had sat about in the woods
above the town till then, listening to a mocking-bird imitate an old
tom-cat.
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