There was no alternative with the postillions waiting, and as she put on the things he had brought she was forced into admitting he had good taste.
"You do look nice!" he cried, joyous as a child, as he handed her into the chaise.
The next instant they were off, the grey horses with their red-coated postillions lending quite a bridal appearance to the couple behind them, for Marmaduke was also very spruce, though he was wearing his left hand tucked into the roll collar of his coat. Something in the look of the arm, now she had time for observation, made Marrion say suddenly--
"You hurt yourself?"
He nodded.
"Dislocated my wrist--you see that first wave was an awful jerk. So I had to get back to the regimental surgeon to get it sorted and get my three days' leave."
She looked at him startled.
"What for?" she asked quickly.
"For our honeymoon, dear," he replied, his kindly, handsome affectionate face bent close to hers. "Don't look so alarmed, Marmie, it had to be after what you and I went through together yesterday; we can't get away from each other, even if we would."
"But----" she began.