A special Licence of Marriage, between....
Beholding which words, he laughed bitterly and made to tear the thing, then paused, folded and replaced it in the wallet, and thrusting this back into his pocket, sat in frowning reverie.
Thus drove Sir John through the golden morning, looking neither to right nor left, scowling at the cushions before him, at his buckled shoes, his silk stockings, at anything and anywhere rather than the countryside he was leaving.
Nevertheless he was about to order the post-boy to drive faster, when the chaise slowed up suddenly and jolted to a standstill.
Out of the window went Sir John’s indignant head on the instant.
“What the devil are ye stopping for?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?”
“I dunno, sir,” answered the post-boy, pointing with his whip, “but ’twas all along o’ ’er ... in the middle o’ the road, sir!”
Forth from the chaise leapt Sir John in a fury.
“Damme, are ye drunk?” he demanded.