“And he 's a fine old fellow, too,” said Stapylton, half sadly.
“Why didn't you tell him to drop in this evening and have a little écarté?”
For a while Stapylton leaned his head on his hand moodily, and said nothing.
“Cheer up, man! Taste that Hollands. I never mixed better,” said Brown.
“I begin to regret now, Duff, that I did n't take your advice.”
“And run away with her?”
“Yes, it would have been the right course, after all!”
“I knew it. I always said it. I told you over and over again what would happen if you went to work in orderly fashion. They 'd at once say, 'Who are your people,—where are they,—what have they?' Now, let a man be as inventive as Daniel Defoe himself, there will always slip out some flaw or other about a name, or a date,—dates are the very devil! But when you have once carried her off, what can they do but compromise?”
“She would never have consented.”
“I 'd not have asked her. I 'd have given her the benefit of the customs of the land she lived in, and made it a regular abduction. Paddy somebody and Terence something else are always ready to risk their necks for a pint of whiskey and a breach of the laws.”