"We'll have to think of some reason for a change in their plans. Why couldn't they have postponed the party?"
"Even if they did they wouldn't postpone me. I go there often, they're old friends, it doesn't matter when I come."
Her voice had a quavering note, new to him, and extremely alarming.
"Dearest, don't get worked up over it," he said tenderly.
"Worked up!" she exclaimed. "Wouldn't any girl be worked up? It's awful for a person in my position to elope. It's all very well for you who just go and come as you please, but for me—I believe if I was in prison I could get out easier."
He caught her hand and pressed it between his own.
"Of course, it's hard for you. No one knows that better than I, and that you should do it makes me love you more—if that's possible." He raised the hand to his lips, kissed it softly and dropped it. "I know how you can manage—it's as easy as possible. Say you have a headache, a splitting headache, and can't take the railway trip, but rather than disappoint them you'll go down the next day."
She drew her hand out of his, and said in a stubborn voice:
"No. I don't want to."
"Why? Now why, darling? What's wrong about that?"