“Your dream, my lord, was no dream at all, but sober truth, believe me.”
“Married?” he repeated.
“Married,” said Doctor Shovel. “I fear that your state of mind, during the performance of the ceremony, was not such as a clergyman could altogether wish to see. Still who am I, to decide when a gentleman is too drunk to marry?”
“Married! Oh, this is some dreadful dream! Where is my bride? Show me my wife!”
“She is gone, Lord Chudleigh.”
“Gone! Where is she gone?”
The Doctor shook his head for an answer.
“Who is she? What is her name? How came she here?”
“I am sorry that I cannot answer your lordship in these particulars. She came—she was married—she went away! In her own good time she will doubtless appear again.”
“But who is she?” he repeated. “What is she like? Why did she marry me?”