“If I recollect aright,” said Marian, taking up his bantering tone with a sharper irony, “Delaroche’s martyr shewed a fine sense of the necessity of having her wrists gracefully tied. I am about to follow her example by wearing these bracelets, which I can never fasten. Be good enough to assist me, both of you.”
She extended a hand to each; and Conolly, after looking at the catch for a moment, closed it dexterously at the first snap. “By the bye,” he said, whilst Douglas fumbled at the other bracelet, “I have to run away to Glasgow to-night by the ten train. We shall not see one another again until Monday evening.”
Douglas’s hand began to shake so that the gold band chafed Marian’s arm. “There, there,” she said, drawing it away from him, “you do it for me, Ned. Sholto has no mechanical genius.” Her hand was quite steady as Conolly shut the clasp. “Why must you go to Glasgow?”
“They have got into a mess at the works there; and the engineer has telegraphed for me to go down and see what is the matter. I shall certainly be back on Monday. Have something for me to eat at half past seven. I am sorry to be away from our Sunday dinner, Douglas; but you know the popular prejudice. If you want a thing done, see to it yourself.”
“Sholto has been very eloquent this evening on the subject of popular prejudices,” said Marian. “He says that to defy the world is a proof of honesty.”
“So it is,” said Conolly. “I get on in the world by defying its old notions, and taking nobody’s advice but my own. Follow Douglas’s precepts by all means. Do you know that it is nearly a quarter to eight?”
“Oh! Let us go. We shall be late.”
“I shall not see you to-morrow, Douglas. Good-night.”
“Good-night,” said Douglas, keeping at some distance; for he did not care to offer Conolly his hand before Marian now. “Pleasant journey.”
“Thank you. Hallo! [Marian had impatiently turned back.] What have you forgotten?”