“When he was. That’s horrider. And that others of my relatives were roués and scandalmongers and drunkards.”
“I seem to have eloped into a nice cheerful sort of family,” observed the girl.
“It’ll be a lot less cheerful if they ever get me on the stand. My lawyer was to have warned me in time to get away, but the other side stole a march on him, and I barely managed to sneak out in this disguise. So I was going to lie low at Harmon’s place until they gave up the chase. But as matters are, I can stick to my whiskers and my accent a while longer. And, really, much as I should like to continue this prose poem of ours, I think that for the sake of—well, of appearances, I’d better go on somewhere else. Unless you’re quite sure that Mrs. Bond is there and—”
“She is,” broke in Darcy. “I’ve had a telegram.”
“In that case—”
“In that case, you come along in the car with me. I won’t have your trip spoiled. Besides, don’t you think I have some curiosity in my make-up? I’ve got to see you without yours, or perish!”
There was no irruption of the newly-weds to complicate matters. The pseudo-weds had sandwiches and ginger ale in the observation car and sat there getting better acquainted and more content with each other until the “Chorea’s” porter sought them out.
“Drawin’-rooms is bofe gone,” he said. “A got off at Ashlan’ an’ B lef’ at Meredith. S’pi-cioned you-all might lak to know.”
His suspicion brought its reward. Ten minutes before the arrival at Weirs, Darcy’s confederate excused himself.
“You get out by yourself,” he said. “I’ll join you on the platform.”