“Simply, that for some short time, marry or not, you must be able to baffle pursuit, and for such a purpose I’d back this spot in the wilds of Donegal against the kingdom.” “Suppose we were to fail?” “We can’t fail; she goes willingly--or, if not, unwillingly; but failure is out of the question. Your object is, that she should not be Lady Wardle, is it not so?” “Yes, undoubtedly.” “And to secure this, it is worth while incurring some risk?” “Certainly; but I should like to know the extent of that risk.” “I’m no lawyer, and can’t tell you what class of misdemeanor the law makes it; not to say that the offence is one which differs according to the judge who tries it; but the question to which you will haye to look is this: If the girl be satisfied that she is really married, however grieved the old man may be, he will never disturb that fact. He’ll shut himself up in his castle, and let his beard grow. A great shock at his age lasts for the remainder of life, and he’ll nurse his grief till it lays him in the grave.” “Then there must be a marriage?” “Some sort of marriage, Irish or Scotch, they have them of all sorts and complexions; but English law smashes them, just to show these poor Celts in what a barbarism they are living, and that even their most solemn contracts are a farce, if not ratified by us here.” “So that I could marry again if I wished it?” “Of course you could. Why, scores of fellows about town have gone through that sort of humbug. Don’t you know Lawson--Jim Lawson? Well, he married his sister’s governess before he married Lady Lucy King; and they wanted to make a fuss about it; but it was proved that it was only a lark on his part, though _she_ was quite serious about it; and the priest, too, was only in deacon’s orders, or it was after canonical hours, and it was all irregular, even to the ring on her finger, which Harry Bushe said was copper, and so the Lords smashed it, as they always do these Irish things, and Jimmy married the other woman.” “I wish there was to be no marriage at all.” “Perhaps you do; perhaps you’d like it better if old Sir Within would have the politeness to die off and give you no further trouble?” “Ah, if he would!” “But, as he won’t--as he is firmly bent not merely on living longer, but actually taking measures to make himself an unpleasant memory when he does go, I suspect you ought to look sharp to your own interests, Master Dolly. But, after all, I find myself pressing like an advocate in a case where the very utmost I ought to do should be to advise as a friend. You know by this time all I think on this matter. It is for you to follow the advice or reject it. Meanwhile, I mean to get up and have a walk before dinner.” “Just one thing more--as to this Irish fellow you speak of. Would he take all the risks--the legal risks--if he were well paid for it?”