I 'll look to me own business without any 'elp neither from you ner Burls."
"'Ol' on now, Pop," Milly interfered. She nudged Sutley. "Go on an' tell 'im."
She closed the door behind her to shut off the servant.
Sutley gulped. "We—we got married this mornin'."
He did not look up to see Yost's expression, but the silence in the little room was itself an accusing gape of amazement. He continued apologetically: "You see, she did n't want to go back to the circus, an' I did n't. She wanted to stay in the flat instead o' knockin' aroun' on the road—so we thought we 'd jus' stan' by each other that way—an' see if we could n't fix it up afterwards." His voice faded away in an unintelligible mumble.
The old man had half risen from his chair, as open-mouthed as Pantomime, his eyes fixed in a staring speechlessness on his daughter. She was unconscious of the fact that she was busily shaking out her veil and folding it in a trembling excitement.
"Milly!"
She shook her head, without looking at him. "I 'ad a right to get married. I 'ave a right to live as well as other people."
And suddenly Burls, bringing his hand down with a smack on his knee, broke out in an echoing guffaw, and lay back in his chair shouting his laughter, open-mouthed, his eyes shut.
Yost sprang to his feet, "You let 'im take you in
