Yes, yes; he would do it--marry Dom before the magistrate, or by special license, and wire for another passage--and, fired with this reckless resolve, he drawled: "I say, you need not make such a confounded hullaballoo!" turning suddenly on his future mother-in-law; "I intend to marry Dominga!" And Dominga, who had been clinging to his arm until now, on hearing this announcement, slipped down to the floor in a limp heap. She had fainted. Here was a fine piece of news for all the station, the bazaar, the factory, the letters to the hills--"Captain Fielder had actually married, by special license, Dom Chandos, and they had gone home in the _Persia_! What would his father say?" And it had all been so secret! such a general hoodwinking was as incredible as it was successful. Poor Colonel Palgrave! Poor Mrs. Palgrave! Poor Mrs. Grundy! Dominga, in the midst of the hastiest preparations, and the most bewildering happiness, nevertheless found time to pay a hurried visit to the Trotters and to Blanche. She was marrying Jimmy for himself, but to be in a position to tell Blanche and Lizzie that she would one day be Lady Highstreet, and that in the meantime they must put "Honourable" on her letters, was a joy that repaid her for many weeks of sorrow. Lord Highstreet had transported his heir to India in order to avoid an undesirable match, his son was now returning, and bringing (did his father but know!) as wife, one of the daughters of the people! The true history of the Honourable Mrs. J. Fielder remained a profound secret. Chandos was a good name; she was the grandchild of Chandos of Charne, and talked not a little of her ancestors. Dom, clever, imitative Dom! easily adapted herself to circumstances. She carried her head high, she dressed well, and had a just sense of her own place in the world. To see her in her carriage in the Park, with Jimmy grinning beside her, they presented a charming and instructive picture of domestic felicity--and in spite of his gallant boast, Master Jimmy _is_ kept in bounds! Mrs. Fielder's accent is unquestionably a little foreign--and when extremely angry she has been known to break out into the language of an unknown tongue--but then she is so accomplished! Who would believe the graceful figure trailing about the lawns of Hurlingham was the self-same woman, who, not so long ago, at a certain railway crossing, had dashed herself down, torn her hair, beat her head upon the ground, and called upon heaven and earth with heart-rending cries. Dom has one little boy. He is not the least like his parents, who are both fair--he is too absurdly dark! His complexion is a puzzle to the entire Highstreet connection, but Dom herself is silent! She knows perfectly well (and buries the truth in her heart) that her darling Villiers Augustus bears a fatal resemblance to his dear little Indian cousin, Chandos Montagu-Jones! CHAPTER XLIII