And then at last it was over, and we were there, and I was being led like a sheep to the altar, and Henry was on the platform with ring and license and all the implements of sacrifice.
"Behold," said Russell from the train platform, "the family friend is on hand. Whose idea was Henry, anyhow? His or yours or mother's?"
Henry came up. He looked cheerful enough, although I fancied he was pale. I liked his necktie. I always liked Henry's ties.
"Hello," he said. "Everything here? Where's your luggage?"
"Baggage car," said Russell. "Look after Kit, Henry, will you? I'll see to it."
He hadn't taken two steps before Henry had clutched my arm.
"I knew you wouldn't," he said. "I can see it in your face."
"Henry!" I gasped. "What am I to do?"
"You're to marry me," he said in a sort of fierce whisper. "Don't stop to argue. I've always meant to marry you. Quick, into the taxi!"
That's all I remember just then, except hearing him say he had the license and the ring, and an uproar from where we'd left Russell and all his money on the platform.