"My darling!" said John (and it was impossible to deny admiration to the tone he said it in), "no. So late! What are we waiting for? Why are we wasting all this precious time?" Mary could not speak, but consternation passed for an appropriate confusion, and John pursued his passionate pleadings. As Mary felt his grasp and looked into his honest eyes, her duty lay plain before her. She would not stoop to paltry excuses on the score of clothes, invitations, or such trifles. She had made up her mind to the thing; surely she ought to do it in the way most gracious and most pleasing to her lover. "If Aunt consents," she murmured at last, "do as you like, John dear," and the embrace which each felt to be inevitable at such a crisis passed between them. A discreet cough separated them. The butler stood in the doorway, with two letters on a salver. One he handed to Mary, the other to John, and walked away with a twinkle in his eye. However even our butlers do not know everything that happens in our houses (to say nothing of our hearts), although much they may think they do. John looked at his letter, started violently and crushed it into his pocket. He glanced at Mary; her letter lay neglected on her lap. She was looking steadily out of the window. "Well, that's settled," said John. "I--I think I'll have a cigar, dear." "Yes, do, darling," said Mary, and John went out. These second letters were unfortunately so long as to make it impossible to reproduce them. They were also very affecting, Dora's from its pathos, Charlie's from its passion. But the waves of emotion beat fruitlessly on the rock-built walls of conscience. At almost the same moment, Mary, brushing away a tear, and John, blowing his nose, sat down to write a brief, a final answer. "We are to be married today fortnight," they said. They closed the envelopes without a moment's delay and went to drop their letters in the box. The servant was already waiting to go to the post with them and a second later the fateful documents were on their way to Cannes. "Now," said John, with a ghastly smile, "we can have a glorious long day together!" Mary was determined to leave herself no loophole. "We must tell Aunt what--what we have decided upon this morning," she reminded him. "It means that the wedding must be very quiet." "I shan't mind that. Shall you?" "I shall like it of all things." she answered. "Come and find Aunt Sarah." Miss Bussey had always--or at least for a great many years back--maintained the general proposition that young people do not know their own minds. This morning's news confirmed her opinion. "Why the other day you both agreed that the middle of June would do perfectly. Now you want it all done in a scramble." The pair stood before her, looking very guilty. "What is the meaning of this--this (she very nearly said 'indecent') extraordinary haste?"