“Nothing of the sort,” retorted Barnes. “He wouldn’t hear of it. He’d cut off both his arms before he’d allow your name to be dragged into such a sensation. And I’d add mine, too, willingly, with these bracelets on them.”
“But that detective said he had a warrant for Mr. Gladwin for eloping with me,” cried Helen, blushing scarlet. “And, you know”–––
“Yes, I know you’re going to weep or faint or something else. Tell me about your cousin––she’s not m-m-married?”
“Sadie married!” ejaculated Helen. “Why, she’s deathly afraid of men. She’s the most timid little thing in the world.”
“Good!” cried Barnes, enthusiastically. “These handcuffs are not half bad, now you tell me that.”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Helen, her eyes twinkling.
“Oh, nothing,” said Barnes, trying to look unconcerned. “She’s very young?” he added quickly.
“A year younger than I am,” said Helen, mischievously. There was something positively fascinating about the intense seriousness that had fallen upon the nervous features of Whitney Barnes.
“She’s not too young to marry?” was his next query.