"Yes, and if you could conjugally wipe your boots on my dress, it would have an extremely old married effect. You can read the paper first, and then pass it to me—that is another delicate little point."
"I'm afraid that in your zeal you will drive me to excesses of boorishness that will overshoot the mark" said I. "You wouldn't want me to be so negligent of 'that pretty girl,' that some other gentleman would feel a disposition to befriend her?"
"Well, dear, but there's a happy medium. We can appear like two relatives traveling together."
"I am afraid," said I "after all, we shall be detected; but if we are, we shall be in good company. Our first day's journey lies in the regular bridal route, and I expect that every third or fourth seat will show an enraptured pair, of whom we can take lessons—after all, dear, you know there is no sin in being just married."
"No, only in acting silly about it as I hope we shan't. I want us to be models of rationality and decorum."
Here the clock striking twelve warned me that the last day of Eva Van Arsdel's life was numbered.
CHAPTER XLIII.
BOLTON.