From what has been said it may be imagined that Mrs. Scarsdale, _nee_ Vernon, was an excellent hand at light and amusing conversation; and so pleasantly did she receive the Consul, and so amusingly rally him on the events of the day, that he scarcely seemed to have been with her a minute, when a slight jolt caused him to look up and out, only to perceive the Basingstoke Station sliding rapidly past the windows. Allingford's first impulse was to dash from the carriage, a dangerous experiment when one remembers the rapidity with which a light English train gets under way. In this, however, he was forestalled by Mrs. Scarsdale, who clung to his coat-tails, declaring that he should not desert her; so that by the time he was able to free himself the train had attained such speed as to preclude any longer the question of escape. The sensations which Mr. Allingford and Mrs. Scarsdale experienced when they realised that they were being borne swiftly away, the one from his wife and the other from her husband, may be better imagined than described. The deserted bride threw herself into the farthest corner of the carriage and began to laugh hysterically, while the Consul plunged his hands into his pockets and gave vent to a monosyllabic expletive, of which he meant every letter. After the first moments of astonishment and stupefaction both somewhat recovered their senses, and mutual explanations and recriminations began forthwith. "How has this dreadful thing happened?" demanded Mrs. Scarsdale, in a voice quavering with suppressed emotion. "I'm afraid it's my fault," said Allingford ruefully. "The guard told me we had ten minutes." "That was for your division of the train, stupid!" exclaimed the lady wrathfully. "I didn't know that," explained the Consul, "and so I told your husband we had ten minutes, which probably accounts for his being left." "Then I'll never, never forgive you," she cried, and burst into tears, murmuring between her sobs: "Poor, dear Harold! what will he do?" "Do!" exclaimed the Consul, "I should think he had done enough, in all conscience. Why, confound him, he's gone off with my wife!" "Don't you call my husband names!" sobbed Mrs. Scarsdale. "Well, he certainly has enough of his own, that's a fact." "If you were a man," retorted the disconsolate bride, "you would do something, instead of making stupid jokes about my poor Stanley. I'm a distressed American citizen----" "No, you're not; you became a British subject when you married Scarsdale," corrected Allingford. "Well, I won't be, so there! I tell you I'm an American woman in distress, and you are my Consul and you've got to help me." "I'll help you with the greatest pleasure in the world. I'm quite as anxious to recover my wife as you can be to find your husband." "Then what do you advise?" she asked.