The lady looked slightly embarrassed.
"I protest, sir; I cannot have you going on your knees again," she cried sharply, "and it's getting late, and the business is settled, I think."
"Leave it to me," said he; "sure, I could do it blindfold."
"Have the post-chay at the corner of Bond Street and Quiet Street, 'tis the darkest in Bath, I think."
"Ay, and the relay at Devizes, for we'll have to push the first stage."
"And after?" said she, and looked at him doubtingly.
"And after that—London. And sure I know an old boy in Covent Garden that will marry us in a twinkle."
She nibbled her little finger. The rapture evoked on his countenance by this last prospect was not reflected upon hers.
"But you forget," said she, "that I am to be abducted against my will, and what will people say if I marry you at the end of the journey without more ado?"
"Oh, faith," said he, without a shade of uneasiness, "shouldn't I be a poor fellow if I did not contrive to persuade you on the way? And then, what would the world say if you did not marry me after travelling all night with such a wild Irish devil? Sure," said he, with a wink, "what else could a poor woman do to save her reputation?"