“But—er—it’s no end nice of you, you know, and—and all that sort of thing. But why together?”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain.” She looked at him doubtfully. “I’m finding it rather hard.”
“Perhaps you’re not supposed to be traveling alone,” he suggested.
“Now, that’s quite clever of you!” Darcy beamed gratitude upon him. “I’m not. But I started alone and—and—”
“You were to meet a—a companion who failed you?” He was really striving to be helpful, but Darcy felt herself getting in deeper and deeper.
“No: that isn’t it, at all.”
“Then—er—I may be beastly stupid, but—er—really—” Blank bewilderment was expressed in every feature of his face including the monocle.
“Not at all,” returned the girl politely. “No wonder you find it puzzling. It’s quite involved.” Then she took the plunge. “I’m eloping.”
“Eloping?” Her vis-à-vis dropped his monocle, replaced it, and stared at Darcy. “Eloping! Impossible!”
“Why impossible? Don’t you elope in England?”