A special Licence of Marriage, between.... Beholding which words, he laughed bitterly and made to tear the thing, then paused, folded and replaced it in the wallet, and thrusting this back into his pocket, sat in frowning reverie. Thus drove Sir John through the golden morning, looking neither to right nor left, scowling at the cushions before him, at his buckled shoes, his silk stockings, at anything and anywhere rather than the countryside he was leaving. Nevertheless he was about to order the post-boy to drive faster, when the chaise slowed up suddenly and jolted to a standstill. Out of the window went Sir John’s indignant head on the instant. “What the devil are ye stopping for?” he demanded. “What’s the matter?” “I dunno, sir,” answered the post-boy, pointing with his whip, “but ’twas all along o’ ’er ... in the middle o’ the road, sir!” Forth from the chaise leapt Sir John in a fury. “Damme, are ye drunk?” he demanded. “Nary a drop, your honour, since nine o’clock las’ night, on my David, sir! But theer she was, your honour, in the middle o’ the fair-way, d’ye see, a-wavin’ of ’er arms wild-like ... wouldn’t move, an’ us nigh a-top of ’er, so pull up I ’ad to, sir.” “Ah!” quoth Sir John. “And now, my good Addlepate, will you pray inform me what the devil you are stopping for?” “Why, lord, sir, ain’t I a-tellin’ your honour as she came out o’ the ’edge yonder all suddent-like, an’ waved ’er arms wild-like an’——” “Aye, my good numbskull, but who?” “A ’ooman, sir, a precious big ’un in a——” “Then where is she, my good clod, where is she?” “Here!” answered a voice. Sir John spun round upon his heel and very nearly gaped. She was sitting in the chaise, her eyes very bright, her cheeks a little flushed beneath the hood of the long grey cloak that enfolded her. For a long moment they gazed at one another speechlessly, while the post-boy sucked at the knob of his whip and stared with eyes round and bright as his buttons, for whose behoof Sir John presently spoke. “Madame,” said he, bowing with extreme ceremony, “I trust we ha’n’t kept your ladyship long a-waiting!... You may drive on, my addle-brained wiseacre, and pocket this guinea for possessing the wit not to run over a lady in broad daylight.” So saying, Sir John bestowed the coin, got into the chaise and closed the door, whereupon the jubilant post-boy cracked his whip ecstatically, chirruped gaily to his horses, and they drove on again. “And now, madame,” inquired Sir John coldly, eyelids a-droop, chin uptilted, and seated as far from her as the narrow vehicle allowed, “pray, what folly is this?” “Folly, indeed, John, to run away ... and so very early in the morning, too!” “How came you hither, madame?” “In George Potter’s cart.... And do not be so extreme distant, John ... for thee I left my warm bed at sunrise!” “Your ladyship amazes me!”