He made no reply. But a slow, deadly feeling had begun to creep along his spine.
"Do you mind where we are married, Harry?"
"No," he said, gently, with faraway eyes.
"I'm all for privacy," said Miss Dobbs, in her practical voice. "I hope you are."
"Whatever's agreeable to you is agreeable to me." He seemed to feel that that was good W. M. Thackeray.
"Very well, then, Harry, tomorrow morning at eleven I'll call for you, and we'll toddle round to the Circus and see what the Registrar has to say to us."
"If that's agreeable to you, it's agreeable to me," he said, sticking doggedly to his conception of the man of the world and the English gentleman.
"And now, Harry—-" But Cora suddenly stopped in the very act of advancing upon him. He had read her purpose, and she had read his eyes; moreover, she had read the look which those eyes had been unable to veil. With the sagacity upon which Miss Cora Dobbs prided herself—if she happened to be perfectly sober—she decided to postpone any oscular demonstration of regard for Harry until the next day.
XV