"Oh, I'm so tired," moaned the poor bride, mud-spattered, wet, and very far from being the spick and span young woman that fashionable society knew and loved.
"By Jove!" came suddenly from the darkness, startling the entire party—a masculine voice full of surprise and—yes, consternation. Then there strode into the circle of light a tall figure in a shimmering mackintosh, closely followed by a young, resolute woman.
"Windomshire!" gasped Dauntless, leaping in front of Eleanor, prepared to defend her with his life.
"Miss Courtenay, too," murmured Eleanor, peeking under his arm.
"Yes, by Jove," announced the harassed Englishman, at bay,—"Windomshire and Miss Courtenay." There was a long silence—a tableau, in fact. "Well, why doesn't some one say something? You've got us, don't you know."
Eleanor Thursdale was the first to find words. She was faint with humiliation, but strong with the new resolve. Coming forth from behind Dauntless, she presented herself before the man her mother had chosen.
"So you have found me out, Mr. Windomshire," she said pleadingly, a wry little smile on her lips. "You know all about it?"
"I—er—by Jove, this is quite beyond me. Found you out? My word, you don't mean to say—"
"I say, old man," said Dauntless, manfully, "let me explain. We've always loved each other. It isn't that she—"
"Hang it all, man, I knew that," expostulated Windomshire. "It was a mistake all around. I love Anne, don't you know. There's no real harm done, I'm sure. But what puzzles me is this: why does Miss Thursdale persist in pursuing us if she loves you and doesn't care to marry me?"