"They're not going to Claxon. We are going there. Just this side is a little station at which they can take a local for Shelby. They will change at this station and go to Shelby while we keep on to Claxon and get off there."
"But last night you insisted on their going to Claxon." Selwyn's voice implied that a woman's methods of management were beyond a man's understanding.
"Inquiries will be made as to who bought tickets for Claxon. Mrs. Swink will have the whole police department running around for clues and things. I told you not to buy tickets. Did you?"
"I did not. I'm taking orders and doing what I'm told, but, being new at it, I don't work as smoothly as I might. Is there any special reason why I shouldn't have bought tickets?"
"There is." I opened my pocket-book, and, taking out a note, handed it to him. "I'll take breakfast with you but I'll have to pay my railroad fare. I didn't want you to get tickets, because if two couples bought them it would cause confusion and telegrams might be sent to Shelby also. I didn't have time to think it all out last night. I only knew Tom and Madeleine must seemingly go to Claxon and yet not go. I wasn't sure what could be done, but after you decided to come I thought we could play the part and give them time to be married at Shelby."
"You mean you and I are to pretend we are somebody else, mean—"
Selwyn's voice was protestingly puzzled. Impersonation did not appeal.
"There'll be no necessity to pretend. If a sheriff, with orders to do so, takes charge of us he will hardly believe our assertion that we are not the parties wanted. He's used to that. All we will have to do is to wait until Tom and Madeleine come back. When they show as proper a marriage certificate as a dairy-maid and farmer-laddie ever framed he will let us go. You don't look as if playing groom to my bride pleases you. I'm sorry, but—"
Into Selwyn's eyes came that which made me turn mine away and look out of the window. Unthinkingly I had invited what he was going to say. "Playing groom does not interest me. Why play? And stop looking out of the window." He changed his seat and took the one beside me. "Look at me, Danny. Why can't we be married at Claxon? We'll wait for those children to come back and then—"
"Is that exactly fair?" I drew away the hands he was hurting in his tense grip. "I hardly thought you'd take—" I shut my eyes to keep back quick tears for which there was no accounting. Something curious was suddenly possessing me, something that for weeks I had seemed fighting and resisting. An overmastering desire to give in; to surrender, to yield to his love for me, to mine for him, was disarming me, and swift, inexplicable impulse to marry him and give up the thing I was trying to do urged and swept over me. And then I remembered his house with its high walls. And I remembered Scarborough Square. Until there was between them sympathy and understanding there could be no abiding basis on which love could build and find enrichment and fulfilment. Straightening, I sat up, but I was conscious of being very tired.