“Nonsense,” I said, “we shall all be delighted. If you catch the Boulogne express from Interlaken tonight you will be in Victoria tomorrow evening in good time for your appointment on Monday. You can leave again on Tuesday and be up here on Wednesday. We will keep Mrs. Audley amused until then.”
Both expressed their thanks and we went to the telephone to get on to the Sleeping-car Company in Interlaken and reserve a berth.
I arranged to leave with them at four o’clock that afternoon and descend by the funicular into Lauterbrunnen, where Audley would take train for Interlaken to catch the night-mail for Boulogne.
Thus, having fixed things up, I left them and went up to the Doctor’s room where I told him what had occurred.
The old fellow at first laughed immoderately and declared I was extremely foolish to intrude. However, he was sympathetic enough.
“Poor little girl!” he said. “Of course she would be very lonely. We must have her to sit at our table, Yelverton, and of course, my dear boy, you must entertain her. Poor little girl!—she has only one honeymoon, and to think that it should be so interrupted! Yes. You did quite the right thing,—quite right!”
At six o’clock I stood on the snowy platform at Lauterbrunnen station with “The Little Lady,” as I called her, and we watched her husband wave us farewell as the train left. It was dark, damp and dreary down there. A thaw had set in and it was sloppy under foot. Lauterbrunnen is not a pleasant place in winter. Suddenly she turned to me and with a merry laugh exclaimed:
“Well, Mr. Yelverton, I suppose I am now your temporary bride—eh?”
We laughed together, and then crossed back to the little station of the funicular railway and slowly ascended until, just in time for dinner, we were back again in Mürren.
Naturally, the fun-loving guests at the hotel made the best of the news that Stanley Audley had had to dash off to London and had left his pretty wife in my charge. Chaff and banter flew freely, practical jokes were played on us by the score and the excitement helped to chase away Mrs. Audley’s depression. And, perhaps, wisely, she sought to get rid of her natural sorrow by flinging herself into the whirl of the Kürhaus life. She danced, laughed and even flirted mildly with one or two young fellows in a way she certainly would not have dreamed of doing had Stanley Audley been present. But it was all very innocent and above-board and not even the strictest moralist would have found fault with this gay abandon which, I fancy, was half assumed. For, disguise it how she would, she was quite clearly devoted to her husband and longed only for his return.