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I am in reality a minister, Miss Courtenay, and I am here to unite Miss Thursdale and Mr. Dauntless in the holy bonds of matrimony. I trust we may expect no interference on the part of Mr. Windomshire?" "Good Lord! No!" almost shouted Windomshire, clasping Anne's hand in a mighty grasp. "That's what we are here for ourselves to be married but the damned parson has deceived us."
It's O'Brien's Lane." Then, after a long silence, "Can't you back out?" "It's rather I mean sorter risky, mister. I don't know how far I'd have to back, doncherknow er, ahem!" "The crossroads can't be more than a hundred yards behind you. Where are you going?" "I'm going for a doctor," called Windomshire, hastily.
Hope it was satisfactory, sir." The car shot off in the night, almost running down a man who scudded across the street in its path. "Just in time, Anne," said Windomshire to the tall, hooded figure beside him. "Thank God, we didn't miss it." "Hasn't it been good sport, Harry?" cried the young woman, with an unmistakably English inflection. "It's just like a book." "Only more so," he observed.
"Good!" exclaimed Dauntless, heartily. Windomshire was not in the least annoyed by the lack of sympathy. He began to drive his car backward by jerks and jolts, blindly trusting to luck in the effort to reach the road which he had passed in his haste a few minutes before. Joe was shouting encouragement and pushing slowly forward in his own machine. The noise of the engines was deafening.
Two of them eventually disengaged themselves from the little group and hurried forward. One was carrying a suitcase, and both walked as though they were either in pain or attended by extreme old age. "Why why " gasped Eleanor, "it's Joe!" "And yes, thank God, it's Har Mr. Windomshire," almost shrieked Anne. Then they turned and looked at each other in confusion.
"I I am running away, Miss Courtenay," she cried, with a brave attempt to appear naive. "I don't understand," murmured poor Anne. "Of course you don't," said Eleanor, inspiration heaping itself up within her. "Not really, you know, but just for a few days' rest. Mother thinks I'm looking wretchedly. We didn't say anything about it- -except to Mr. Windomshire, of course. He knows.
"I had it from her own lips, Mrs. Scudaway." "Oh, you know what I mean. Is it likely to be serious?" "Really, I can't say. I offered to go and fetch the doctor in my car, but she assured me she'd be all right in the morning. What say, Mr. Dauntless?" "I didn't speak, Mr. Windomshire." "I thought you did." More than one at the table had heard Joe's involuntary chuckle.
Windomshire quite jealous and at the same time do nothing reprehensible. What he did succeed in doing, alas, was to make two young people needlessly miserable for a whole afternoon bringing on grievous headaches and an attack of suppressed melancholia that savoured somewhat of actual madness. True to his project, he laboured hard and skilfully for hours.
They plodded onward, closer together than ever, coming at last to the little gate which opened into the churchyard. Before them stood the black little building with its steeple, but the windows were as dark as Erebus. They stopped in consternation. He looked at his watch. "Confound him, he's not here!" growled Windomshire. "Perhaps we are early," suggested Anne, feebly.
It came to her memory that Dauntless had been with Miss Courtenay all morning, however, and she wondered not a little. Windomshire was approaching in search of Anne, who was to have met him as if by accident in a corner of the reading-room. "Oh, Mr. Windomshire," exclaimed Mrs. Van Truder, darting toward him. "How do, Mrs. Van Truder?
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