“Well, yes, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton. “What’s done can’t be undone; but I’m sure I don’t know what people will say.”
“I shall be very stern with Claud, though, for it is a most disgraceful act. I wonder at Kate.”
“Well, I did, my dear, till I began to think, and then I did not; for Claud has such a masterful way with him. He was always too much for me.”
“Yes,” said Wilton dryly; “always. Well, we had better wait and see if they come back.”
“I am terribly disappointed, though, my dear, for we could have had such a grand wedding. To go off like that and get married, just like a footman and housemaid. Don’t you remember James and Sarah?”
“Bah! No, I don’t remember James and Sarah,” said Wilton irascibly.
“Yes, you do, my dear. It’s just ten years ago, and you must remember about them both wanting a holiday on the same day, and coming back at night, and Sarah saying so demurely: ‘Please, ma’am, we’ve been married.’”
Wilton twisted his chair round and kicked a piece of coal on the top of the fire which required breaking.
“James, my dear, you shouldn’t do that,” said his wife, reprovingly. “You’re as bad as Claud, only he always does it with his heel. There is a poker, my dear.”
“I thought you always wanted it kept bright.”