“Oh dear!” I said. “Poor young gentleman!”
“Poor young gentleman;” the old gentleman yelled. “D——d young scoundrel! The girl’s got ten thousand a year, and he’s the beggarly youngest son of a beggarly baronet, who has to work for his living. Did they say where they were going?”
“No, sir,” I said.
It was a little white story, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to say “To London,” for fear it might be true. I wasn’t going to help to send a handsome young gentleman to prison for marrying his sweetheart and taking her away from that horrid Court of Chancery, which, judging by the outside, must be a dreadful place for a young girl to be brought up in.
The old gentleman swore a little more, then he jumped into the fly again, said something to the other old gentleman, and drove off again back to the station.
“I hope they won’t be caught,” I said to Harry. “Poor young things! How dreadful to be hunted about on their honeymoon, and the poor young lady to be always dreaming that her husband is being seized and dragged away from her and put into prison.”
* * * * *
About a week after that Harry was reading the paper, when suddenly he shouted out, “They’re caught!”
“Oh, Harry, no!” I said. I knew what he meant.
“Yes, they are!”