I was obliged to say I saw, and we arranged the details. We would reach Cologne about six, and Isabel and I, who would share a room as usual, were secretly to pack one bag between us, which Dicky would smuggle out of the hotel and send to the station. Isabel was to be fatigued and dine in her room; I was to leave the _table d'hote_ early to solace her, Dicky was to dine at a _cafe_ and meet us at the station. We would put out the lights and lock the door of the apartment on our departure, and the chambermaid with hot water in the morning would be the first to discover our flight. We only regretted that we could not be there to see the astonishment of the chambermaid. "I won't fail you," I assured Mr. Dod, "but what about Isabel? Isabel is essential; in fact, I won't consent to this elopement without her." "Isabel," said Dicky dubiously, "is all right, so far as her intentions go. But she'd be the better for a little stiffening. Would you mind----" I groaned in spirit, but went in search of Isabel, thinking of phrases that might stiffen her. I found her looking undecided, with a pencil and a slip of paper. "How lucky you are," I said diplomatically, sinking into the nearest chair, "to be going to wind up your trip on the Continent in such a delightful way. It will be--ah--something to remember all your life." "Oh, I suppose so," said Isabel plaintively, "but I should _so_ much prefer to be done in church. If mamma would only consent!" "She never would," I declared, for I felt that I must see Isabel Mrs. Dod within the next day or two at all costs. "A registry office sounds so uninteresting. I suppose one just goes--as one is." "I don't think veils and trains are worn," I observed, "except by persons of high rank who do not approve of the marriage service. I don't know what the Marquis of Queensberry might do, or Mr. Grant Allen." "Of course, the ceremony doesn't matter to _them_," replied Isabel intelligently, "because they would just wear morning dress _anywhere_." "Looking at it that way, they haven't much to lose," I conceded. "And no wedding cake," grieved Isabel, "and no reception at the house of the bride's mother. And you can't have your picture in the _Queen_." "There would be a difficulty," I said, "about the descriptive part." "And no favours for the coachman, and no trousseau----" "I wonder," I said, "whether, under those circumstances, it's really worth while." "Oh, well!" said Isabel. "It's a night to Paris, and a morning to Dover," I said. "We will wait for the others at Dover--I fancy they'll hurry--that'll be another day. I'll take one _robe de nuit_, Isabel, three pocket handkerchiefs, one brush and comb, and tooth brush. You shall have all the rest of the bag." "You are a perfect love," exclaimed Miss Portheris, with the most touching gratitude. "We will share the soap," I continued, "until you are married. Afterwards----"