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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
70
"And
he
is
going
to
marry
her
at
Michaelmas?"
I
asked,
looking
as
sternly
as
I
could
at
the
grandmother.
"Oh
yes,"
she
replied,
"he
is
a
good
young
man,
and
earns
eighteen
marks
a
week.
They
will
be
very
comfortable."
"It
is
a
pity,"
I
said,
"that
the
baby
did
not
make
its
appearance
after
Michaelmas
instead
of
before.
Don't
you
see
yourself
what
a
pity
it
is,
and
how
everything
has
been
spoilt?"
She
stared
at
me
for
a
moment
with
a
puzzled
look,
and
then
turned
away
and
carefully
covered
the
cherub
again.
"They
will
be
very
comfortable,"
she
repeated,
seeing
that
I
expected
an
answer;
"he
earns
eighteen
marks
a
week."
What
was
there
to
be
said?
If
I
had
told
her
her
daughter
was
a
grievous
sinner
she
might
perhaps
have
felt
transiently
uncomfortable,
but
as
soon
as
I
had
gone
would
have
seen
for
herself,
with
those
shrewd
eyes
of
hers,
that
nothing
had
been
changed
by
my
denunciations,
that
there
lay
the
baby,
dimpled
and
healthy,
that
her
daughter
was
making
a
good
match,
that
none
of
her
set
saw
anything
amiss,
and
that
all
the
young
couples
in
the
district
had
prefaced
their
marriages
in
this
way.
Our
parson
is
troubled
to
the
depths
of
his
sensitive
soul
by
this
custom.
He
preaches,
he
expostulates,
he
denounces,
he
implores,
and
they
listen
with
square
stolid
faces
and
open
mouths,
and
go
back
to
their
daily
work
among
their
friends
and
acquaintances,
with
no
feeling
of
shame,
because
everybody
does
it,
and
public
opinion,
the
only
force
that
could
stop
it,
is
on
their
side.
The
parson
looks
on
with
unutterable
sadness
at
the
futility
of
his
efforts;
but
the
material
is
altogether
too
raw
for
successful
manipulation
by
delicate
fingers.
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