Crafty madam! Waiting in the fly at the door and making her observations, she had read what the signs meant almost as surely as though she had been told. The other fly waiting, and Ellen dressed; going out in it on that stormy day; Arthur out of mourning, his attire covered with a light overcoat. She guessed the truth (aided by the mysterious hint in the letter she had opened) and believed surely that nothing less than a MARRIAGE had she interrupted. Not a word said she on the way to the station. Getting him away was a great victory: it would not do to risk marring it. But when they were in the train, and the whistle had sounded, and they were fairly off, then madam spoke. They had the compartment to themselves.
"Arthur, you cannot deceive me: any attempt to do so would be useless. You were about to marry Ellen Adair."
She spoke quietly, almost affectionately; when the bosom is beating with a horrible dread, it produces calmness of manner rather than passion. For a single moment there wavered in Arthur Bohun's mind a doubt as to whether it should be avowal or evasion, but not for longer. As it had come to this, why he must take his standing, He raised his head proudly.
"Eight, mother. I am going to wed Ellen Adair."
Madam's pulses began to beat nineteen to the dozen. Her head grew hot, her hands cold.
"You were, you mean, Arthur."
"Yes. Put it as you like. What was interrupted to-day, will be concluded tomorrow. As soon as I have seen James, I shall return to Eastsea."
"Arthur! Arthur Bohun! It must never be concluded, Never."
"Pardon me, mother. I am my own master."
"A Bohun may not wed shame and disgrace."