"There's my wife—(you must know)—we first met on the journey from
Florence to Rome;
It took me three weeks to discover who was she, and where was her
home;
"Three more to be duly presented; three more ere I saw her again; And a year ere my romance began where yours ended that day on the train."
"Oh, that was the style of the stage-coach; we travel to-day by
express;
Forty miles to the hour," he answered, "won't admit of a passion
that's less."
"But what if you make a mistake?" quoth the elder. The younger half
sighed.
"What happens when signals are wrong or switches misplaced?" he
replied.
"Very well, I must bow to your wisdom," the elder returned, "but
submit
Your chances of winning this woman your boldness has bettered no
whit.
"Why, you do not at best know her name. And what if I try your ideal With something, if not quite so fair, at least more en règle and real?
"Let me find you a partner. Nay, come, I insist—you shall follow—this way. My dear, will you not add your grace to entreat Mr. Rapid to stay?
"My wife, Mr. Rapid—Eh, what? Why, he's gone—yet he said he would
come.
How rude! I don't wonder, my dear, you are properly crimson and
dumb?"