Daphne clapped her hands.
“A trip to Scotland—I have always longed for Scotland. I know a dozen people who have married in Scotland, and happy marriages, every one of them. But I forbid you, Richard, to think of an elopement.”
“We shall set out at midnight; we shall not be missed until morning, and we shall have at least twelve hours’ start. Then, at every stage, we shall leave something behind, which will ensure a broken axle, or a linchpin gone, for our pursuers.”
We were both so charmed with the picture we had conjured up, that when I said, “Suppose, after all, though, that Sir Peter consents?” Daphne’s face fell; but presently she smiled, when I said,—
“If he does consent, why, then, there is no harm in our marrying any way we like, and he will excuse us for running away. And if he does not consent, there is no help for it,—we must elope!”
I considered myself a casuist of the first order. I felt obliged to take the first opportunity of letting Sir Peter know the state of affairs, and, as usual, I determined to begin through Lady Hawkshaw.
“And,” as Daphne shrewdly remarked, “they will certainly differ, so we shall at least have one of them on our side.”
I sought Lady Hawkshaw, and found her in her usual place, in the Chinese room. I began, halting, stammering, and blushing, as if I were a charity school-boy, instead of a lieutenant in his Majesty’s service, who had been thanked by Lord Nelson.
“M-m-my lady,” I stuttered, “I have experienced so much k-k-kindness from you that I have come to you in the greatest emergency of my life.”
“You want to get married,” promptly replied Lady Hawkshaw.