"We should really be there," continued Margaret sadly, "it's our dance you know."
"And here we are going off to a hotel among strangers, Margaret!"
Margaret clutched my arm.
"Let's go back," she said eagerly, "we'll spend the first bit of our honeymoon in the dear old bothy!"
I beckoned to a taxi-driver.
As we drove up the brae to the farm Margaret laughed.
"Do you know what I am laughing at?" she said. "I was thinking about you coming back. It's a sort of habit of yours coming back, isn't it? You don't care for me one bit; you are in love with Janet and Annie."
"Who proposed coming back, madam?"
"I did," she cried in great glee: "I noticed that you didn't seem keen on buying the tickets, and I knew you didn't want to go."
When we walked into the dining-room there was consternation. Margaret's mother went very white.